


lie back and think of Starfleet

by curiouslyfic



Series: lay back and think of Starfleet [1]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Aliens Made Them Do It, Big Bang Challenge, Fake Marriage, Hikaru Sulu is too zen for this bullshit, Idiots in Love, Jim Kirk is gonna break it, M/M, Shore Leave, Starfleet has a rule for this, Top Gun - Freeform, What Would Maverick Do, brizzah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-05
Updated: 2014-11-11
Packaged: 2018-02-25 00:30:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2601983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curiouslyfic/pseuds/curiouslyfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You are cordially invited to the wedding of Hikaru W. Sulu and James T. Kirk. Yes, another one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> betas: enkanowen, luluedwards, and malo_malo  
> a/n: This fic made possible by my fabulous betas, who are all rockstars in their own way, and by the thinky thoughts of sumofparts, even if she doesn't know why. Also, fills the st_xi_kink meme prompts [here](http://st-xi-kink.livejournal.com/8627.html?thread=24188083)/[here](http://st-xi-kink.livejournal.com/4765.html?thread=12131741) and [here](http://st-xi-kink.livejournal.com/8314.html?thread=22520954). 
> 
> link to art: [here](http://chasingthewinds.livejournal.com/332529.html)  
> link to mix: [here](http://drive-thru-rx.livejournal.com/82954.html)

  
The Asphoraxii chancellor takes that my-captain-tried-to-touch-your-wife thing pretty well, all things considered. Upon discovery of Jim tucked off somewhere with his bride being "inappropriately familiar"--Spock's words--the chancellor doesn't actually go straight for Jim's throat, which is a first. Instead, there's an angry confab of grim little men, Enterprise input not required. Jim's persona non grata, that much is clear, but it's also cost the away team their standing in this court, which means they can't even wait for Spock to negotiate them home.

Hikaru tentatively adds this to the shit mission list.

The translator picks up some of it, enough to make this bad. Hikaru can't say he's ever seen a beheading feast but honestly, he hopes he never does. He's sure as hell not sitting through Jim's.

Hikaru hikes a brow at Nyota. Nyota looks at Spock. The guards go for Jim with their long, glowing chains, set to drag him off, and yeah, Hikaru figures it's been long enough. He clears his throat, waits for the chancellor's startled look, and says the magic word.

God help them all when they hit a planet where _brizzah_ doesn't work.

"You are his _brizzah_?" The chancellor stares him down. Hikaru does his best to look menacingly benign. Right on schedule, there's about a rush of soft coos as Mrs. Chancellor's contingent buys into the myth.

"You got it." He flashes his teeth, close enough to a smile not to piss Spock off.

There's some fast and furious muttering from the grim little men, which the chancellor waves off, still watching Hikaru like he's the only interesting thing in the room.

Jim says, "Aw, Snuggles," like he does, like he knows it's hilarious this still works, and one of the guards zaps him with a stun stick and Jim goes down in an inglorious heap. Doc McCoy's going to love that.

Someday, Hikaru's going to choke on sarcasm while they play this out, he's sure of it. "So I'll just take him home and you guys can hash things out with our negotiation team. Sound like a plan?"

From the way the chancellor's still staring, Hikaru guesses that's a no, which leaves him a couple options of not good. It's not really peacekeeping or  humanitarian to drag Jim out by force but he's not cool with leaving Jim captured and stunned, either. Hasn't left Jim behind so far and sees no reason to start now.

Then, there's no other word for it, the chancellor turns resolute. "There is no need, Starfleetian. We are honoured to provide your cheered for event."

There's only one way to take that, awkward translation aside. The crowd seems to agree, if the rush of burbled whispers are the giggles Hikaru expects, and why the hell wouldn't they be? It's not like this is new.

"Hear that, Princess? Now we can send out those save-the-dates."

From his spot on the floor, Jim groans. And that fast, that simply, they're engaged again.

.

The thing is, this isn't the first time it's happened. For two guys so relentlessly relationship-adverse, Hikaru Sulu and Jim Kirk get engaged a lot, even more than they get fake-married, which defies the Starfleet stats. General Order 34 says Jim has to play along when the aliens get all matrimonial but Subsection 6 makes it easy to annul whatever the aliens asked. After four years exploring this quadrant, they could file those requests in their sleep.

The thing is, it's practically a given now that when they're down on a planet, the natives think they're involved, the tale of their improbably mythic romance spreading faster than warp. The quadrant's got a goddamned gossip mill and somehow, lucky them, the pair of them are features.

The thing is, it's outer space and it's supposed to be every dick for himself, no strings attached, but so far, it isn't. It's anything but.

No. Fuck. The really stupid thing is, it's standard, consistent as hell, and neither of them seem to be able to stop it, no matter how hard they try.

Jim mostly blames the quadrant's obsession with their reputedly mythical love. Hikaru mostly blames Jim’s bizarre inability to just shut the fuck up and behave.

They both blame Planet Myth Nuts and the fell beast.

 

 

***

Planet Myth Nuts doesn't start out myth nuts at all. Instead, there's this big game they hunt, horns and antlers and suckers and shit, and Kirk displays his masterless grasp of archaic fighting skills by deciding it's totally a mission Hikaru needs to be on--on account of the fencing, for fuck's sakes--so here's Hikaru in eighteen inches of mud, surrounded by a bunch of leaf-wearing hobbits who clearly haven't been briefed on the concept of Earth modesty.

There's some kind of chant required before they can fire, which they explain in the low whispers of high holy territory. Always good for a flashback or two, prayer beads clicking in his grandmother's hand while she repents on his behalf. He has no doubt he was her favourite--she sure as hell made that clear--but he'd spent most of his childhood bringing deep, dark shame for the grievous sins of his childhood.

What the hunters don't say is the hoshit terror of actually encountering their prey. Horns, check, and antlers, but what really gets him is the teeth, easily a hundred, all apparently fucking sharp.

"So, not a herbivore, then," he says to no one, really, maybe the hunter guy at his left, but then they're chanting and the beast thing's getting close.

Hikaru wonders who's hunting who.

Spock's stuck it out back in the village, playing diplomat again over whatever these people consider high tea, and Doc McCoy's already cautioned his nurses that when they're running off-ship clinics, they don't leave Spock's sight, so it's just him and Jim and a handful of Security fucktards and their team of native guides.

The beast thing salivates thick, green spit in globby ropes that stretch almost to the ground. Eyes up the group like it has no intention of letting them finish that chant.

Then, because apparently this is just Jim's luck, something rustles-snaps-rustles under Jim's foot in a quiet moment mid-chant and just like that, that fucking fast, the beast thing's there, so damned close to Jim it's moving his short hair with every huff, fucking scoping him out with its teeth.

In the face of adversity, Jim Kirk goes one of two ways. He's either charmingly dissembling or he's all about the full frontal assault. No chance that's going to end well, which more than anything, kicks Hikaru into gear.

The beast thing cuts Jim off, selects him from the crowd of chanting villagers in the space of a breath, and it's not much of a surprise that Jim loses his phaser, fast. The real surprise is that he remembers his phaser at all.

Not that it matters. The thing's phaser-immune. Lovely.

Then those teeth are hoshit too close again and Jim's trying to take it down with nothing more than his hands and yeah, Hikaru's not explaining this one to the bridge, how he let the weird alien thing eat James T. Kirk. That is not a report he intends to write, ever.

He's not conscious of jumping in to back Kirk up, going crazy badass with his sword while Kirk retrieves his phaser and crap. Whatever. Hikaru doesn't notice, not the way the chanting stops or the way the beast thing roars or the way it takes forever for Security to clue in.

Later, he'll find out that their hosts held Security back when they tried to help but by that point, he'll have bigger shit on his mind, and when it counts, in the goddamned moment, there's only him and Jim and whatever space Hikaru wins with his sword.

There's chanting again, the sidelines calls of an energized audience not stepping in to help and yeah, okay, it's probably useful to hear repeatedly _hit it in the blaat_ if you know what a _blaat_ is.

He doesn't, so it's a wash.

The thing rushes at him, evades his sword long enough to pin him down and hoshit, no, really, those teeth are fucked. There's a swipe of claws and a gnash of teeth before he hears fabric rip and his chest streaks bright fire. When those teeth close in, it's white heat and a paralyzing sting and he has to fight his wrist free to skewer the beast thing through its side, and on his fourth try, when he's a bloody mess and Kirk's a bloody slump and his whole world's just those teeth bearing down like it plans to eat his face and would have already if its horn-antlers hadn't been in the way, on the fourth fucking try, Hikaru apparently finds the _blaat_.

.

He doesn't realize it's going to be a big deal until they're back at the feast and his goblet maiden's cooing at him like a goblet maiden possessed.

"It is so _brizzah_ ," she says, then flushes slightly and scurries off, casting glances over her shoulder as she goes. Sure, he walked home to a happy round of chanting from their hosts, _brizzah, brizzah_ , whatever that is, and Hikaru's just assumed it's the local version of Slayer of Big, Scary Beast. Maybe Finder of the _Blaat._ Nyota's going to love him getting a new nickname, but she'll rip him a new one if he can't tell her what it means.

Hikaru drains his maybe-wine in three hard swallows and calls his goblet maiden back to explain. He gets a round of blueish flushing and a double curtsy instead. " _Brizzah_ , what is that?"

"Just, he is very lucky to have such a man." Then she kind of swoons.

That doesn't sound right. He gets the lucky, he thinks, because maybe they're both scraped up and shit but they didn't get eaten, and he gets the swoon, because bringing down the fell beast is a pretty big deal in her world. There's something about her phrasing that just sounds wrong. Hikaru figures it's the translator cutting out. "Okay, what does that mean?"

When she's finished explaining, he feels kind of sick. It has nothing to do with the cuts on his chest, everything to do with the actual meaning of _brizzah_.

.

Kirk's smile is weak when Hikaru walks into what's apparently been designated Kirk's healing room but at least he tries.

"Hey, so we're Romeo and Juliet or something," Kirk starts, and Hikaru says, "I know," and there's this really long silence because what the hell can they say? Hikaru thinks about quoting Shakespeare. Decides if Kirk does, Hikaru's totally allowed a pissy glare.

Finally, Kirk says, "Well, you did save me from the fell beast."

"Right. Princess saved. My work here's done." Hikaru dusts off his hands and everything.

And that should be that.

In a perfect universe, it would be.

.

Spock runs the debriefing because Kirk's all messed up on whatever Doc McCoy's injected into him in the three hours they've been back. There's been a standard rant on the sheer voodoo of using native medicine and not contacting Sick Bay but it's getting easier to tune the doc out once it's clear no one's dying or whatever. Mostly, Hikaru expects the debrief to be an exercise in frustration. Spock loves details for their reports and Hikaru plans to black this one out, pronto.

Thing is, it's an exercise in hilarity, instead.

"We're not engaged," Kirk rails through the swollen tongue of his allergic reaction. It's not doing much for his consonants but it's awesome Kirk tries. "Damn it, Spock, you keep that out of the report or--"

Then Kirk tries to hack up a lung and Doc McCoy unsheathes another hypospray. Hikaru pretends to ignore the slapfight that follows because med stuff deserves a little privacy but it's hard to hide his smirk. It says sad, sorry things that they all understand Kirk just fine, even with a tongue too big for his mouth. He's allergic to every antibiotic in the doc's kit or something but it never keeps him out of a fight and by now, it's just one more Enterprise quirk.

"On the contrary, captain. By Anorak custom, one can only be saved from the creature by their soulmate. It is explicitly laid out in Anorak culture. Lieutenant Sulu did prevent your untimely consumption, did he not?" Kirk snarls viciously; Hikaru doesn't care at who. Everyone ignores him. "Then I believe the subject is settled." Spock lays down his PADD. "While you are on Anorak or its colonies, Lieutenant Sulu and yourself are indeed engaged. I believe congratulations are appropriately expressed at this time."

Kirk gives Hikaru the dirty look, like it's somehow his fault. Slurs, "No offense, Sulu, but I'm not that grateful."

"Yeah, sir, right back at you." Hikaru hikes a brow. "Fastest break-up ever?"

Kirk tries to smile. "Sounds good to me."

In the spirit of cooperation, Hikaru ignores Kirk's lolling tongue and Spock's rampant curiosity as he takes his leave.

.

A week later, it's mostly forgotten, one more mission gone weird for the Enterprise team, and since it ended with decent diplomatic ties, it's not even on the really bad list. Kirk heals up and so does Hikaru and if there's a few jokes on the bridge about who'd be the bride, they don't last long. There's always new chaos to fight, new trouble to find, and new ways to be screwed over by their quadrant of space.

Sure, they're still _brizzah_ by Anorak custom but it's not like that means much by the Enterprise scale. And anyway, how many colonies could the hobbits possibly have?

.

The natives on Planet Rock Storm are small blue Ewoks. Vaguely familiar all the same. Hikaru spends twenty minutes trying to figure out why and when he does, it hits like a phaser, the bad sort of stun. Hobbits. _Hobbits_ , but who the hell can he tell? Spock's already talking with the resident liege and the ensign scientists seem afraid to laugh with the CSO around. Kirk, he thinks, Kirk would get it, and that's when he finds out Kirk's been stolen by trolls.

.

The natives are all too happy to help but they're chittering _brizzah_ in excitable groups and Hikaru doesn't trust them. Spock says he's being ridiculous but what does Spock know? There's been no logic in _brizzah_ so far.

The natives offer up their system to let them call home and in a massive wave of not helpful, they start calling it Hikaru's quest.

He calls for back-up. Screw this _brizzah_ thing, he's not going alone to bring down a troll army. This, he feels, is why there's Security on the ship.

.

"I think you should go, lieutenant. Sounds like it's your thing." The jackass on the viewscreen actually grins. That fast, that easy, Hikaru loses all faith in the security team.

"Get your head out of your ass, Cupcake, and let's go get the captain back." Hikaru rails a bit in sheer aggravation that all this even needs to be said. Technically, he's not ranked high enough to give Security actual orders but for whatever stupid reason, no one steps in and when it's clear the bridge crew plans to leave Kirk off the ship until Spock plots his neat, careful rescue, Hikaru can't help but step in. "Isn't that your mission?"

Cupcake shakes his big, stupid, bald head. "Captain Kirk changed our orders. You're in charge of his personal security while he's off the ship if it involves the _brizzah_ thing."

Incredibly, Cupcake smiles.

He has no clue how close he is to the wrong side of Hikaru's sword.

Hikaru's got to beam back sometime. First, by God, trolls.

.

Jim Kirk is a big, stupid idiot who's going to get himself killed. Hikaru wants to say rescuing Kirk's the worst part of his job but unfortunately, he doesn't lie well to himself. It's not hauling ass across some wreck of a planet to drag the captain home that really gets to him; it's the horrible times he can't do anything but wait.

The trolls are, well, trolls. Nyota knows their actual species name and will probably say he's being diplomatically incorrect in his terminology but fuck it, Nyota's not the one squaring off against them with a pair of sidearms so honestly, Nyota can suck it this once.

Out here's like the goddamned wild west and when the captain's gone missing, Hikaru feels like the sheriff from hell.

.

He finds Kirk teaching his troll captors to play strip charades.

"Jesus, Princess, you couldn't beam yourself home?" Hikaru huffs once, re-centers himself and poises for the next swing. Kirk's troll captors look really fucking confused. Hikaru figures that's going to be pretty short-lived but he'll take the element of surprise.

Then one of the troll things sort of sniffs at him and another says something rough and low to Kirk and Hikaru's got a flushing captain on his hands.

He's pretty sure he doesn't want to know what the troll just said. Judging by Kirk's look, it's worth his life to ask.

Hikaru claps a hand on Kirk's arm and smacks at his comm so Scotty's got a lock.

When they're safely back on the Enterprise, Hikaru leaves Kirk for Doc McCoy to manage and swipes a hand to get the worst of the troll blood off his face so he won't be completely disgusting when he gives his report to Spock, who's found a whole new notch of _hoshit, really_ for his eyebrows.

.

Spock makes swift notations on his PADD and seems weirdly obsessed with the trolls.

“In your assessment, they were hostile and unwilling to negotiate?” Spock asks, prissily dispassionate next to Hikaru’s wild adrenalin crash, and maybe that’s why Hikaru gets stupid and snaps.

“No, I went apeshit on them for fun.”

“I am merely attempting to establish that all other methods of retrieving the captain in accordance with Starfleet regulations would have failed and that the captain was, indeed, in mortal danger as my initial findings suggest. If you would prefer an official investigation by Starfleet Command, I will certainly pass my initial findings to the appropriate personnel.” Spock gives him the Vulcan equivalent of _the eye_.

Hikaru winces and forces himself calm. Spock’s questions don’t get any better but they do get a little easier to take.

.

"You rescued him from trolls?" Doc McCoy has this way of frowning that puts Spock to shame. Seriously, Hikaru puts it on par with his grandma's silent _Hi-chan, why have you bleached my cat_. He's pretty sure rescuing the captain from hostile hosts shouldn't count anymore.

"Yeah, trolls." Hikaru pulls himself up on a biobed and fights the urge to kick his impatience with his very long, very craptastic day. It's always rough when they almost lose the captain but somehow, it's worse today, amplified by how everyone keeps making Kirk Hikaru's problem to solve. Hikaru's stupid, gorgeous, reckless genius, pain in the ass to save.

Doc McCoy holds up his scanner, ignores it while it runs. He mutter-snorts _trolls_ again like it's news.

Like the species matters. Christ. "Well, you know, I keep hoping they'll be elves or bunnies or something but no. The captain gets abducted, he likes to go with the serious threats." Hikaru still has nightmares about that sentient flora thing. He jerks his chin at the scanner to move this check-up along because the less he thinks about how often Kirk almost dies, the happier he is. "So, doc, am I clear or what?"

McCoy mutters darkly about reckless bastards and oblivious fools, which tends to mean an anti-inflammatory.

.

He doesn't find out they've evidently passed some secret _brizzah_ test down there on Planet Troll until the debriefing, which is probably for the best, because there's nothing fucking diplomatic in his response.

And that's before he finds out there's going to be another goddamned engagement feast.

"What do you mean you said yes?" He stares at Spock stupidly, waits for the logic to kick in, and when it does, it's horrible.

"Given the nature of our relations with the Anorak homeworld, it is unacceptable to reject such a gesture from one of their colonies. They will greet us, they will feed us, and they will send us home. There is no cause for concern here, lieutenant. They simply wish to celebrate your role in their culture. It would be inappropriate to deny them that simply to appease your emotional unrest."

Hikaru looks at Kirk, who's playing with the edge of a bandage and badly pretending not to care. "Didn't we already break up?"

Kirk nods his agreement and looks up at Spock. "There's no way around it?"

"Not really," Nyota kicks in, way too smug for this meeting. "Once you save him, he's yours."

Hikaru doesn't understand how this is his life.

.

"You couldn't cut in back there with the trolls?" Sulu's all dusty and messed up, hair matted wild. He looks like he's spent four hours in a cave teaching Urg and Gork the basics of chess, which would have been a lot easier with a functional board.

Next time, he can be the princess and Jim can kick some ass.

"I figured you had it under control. Was I wrong?"

"They were _trolls_."

"Yeah, I got that." Just to be a jackass, Jim chucks Sulu's arm then throws a hand up to wave at Bones, who's probably going to be bitching about Jim and missions for days.

Sulu's quiet. Too quiet, maybe. Jim steals a glance sidelong and yeah, oh yeah, it's _what the fuck four_. The one with the ninja brows and that suckable frown. Not that Jim's looking but he notices things and what he's noticing lately is how much he hasn't noticed about Sulu. Odd. He'll have to get on that. 

"What did you say?" Sulu slits a stare.

Jim thinks back. "Nothing. Why? We need Bones to check you out again?"

Sulu ninja-brows him a look of disdain. "What the fuck four?" he repeats carefully, the way Jim's heard his whole life from people who know him well, and Jim can't help himself.

"Actually, it's more like _what the fuck three_ , now. You moved your eyebrows." Jim waves his fingers maybe too close to Sulu's face and yeah, there's a new _what the fuck_ look going on. Jim's thinking about giving them names.

"Wait, you've numbered my whats?"

"What can I say? You've got a lot of 'em." Sulu wavers, five and three, so Jim says, "Oh, what, is that not appropriate pillow talk, Snuggles?" to tip the scales. Oh yeah, he's definitely got to remember that nickname if they have to do the _brizzah_ thing again. 

Sulu's face stills entirely, unreadable except those calculating eyes, and Jim's not sure what's coming next until Sulu snorts and grins and sort of elbows him as he calls Jim an ass.

.

So yeah, they say they'll do this and yeah, they both beam down and yeah, there's a lot of fawning and sighing and murmured, " _Brizzah,_ " when they walk through the town and mostly, they both play nice. Kirk's pretty tactile and Hikaru's pretty laid-back so when Kirk takes his hand, Hikaru just lets him and when their serving hobbit asks how the two of them met, Hikaru lets Kirk tell the story of their famous space-jump, all the best details stripped. It's all very _Princess_ and _Snuggles_ , just good times, and as far as Hikaru's concerned, it can't end fast enough.

Whatever gets the job done.

Dinner's not bad, roast troll, Kirk calls it, and they spend most of it snarking quietly to themselves, friendly for their audience but happily themselves.

Then the hobbit Spock's been talking to calls Jim the bride.

.

"You're the bride, you nurturing bastard." No question about it, as far as Jim's concerned. He snaps a finger-gun at Sulu to press home the point.

"Hey, Princess, I'm not the one who got hauled off by trolls." Yeah, if Sulu's calling him "Princess", Jim's definitely using "Snuggles" again.

"Can I help it if I've got interspecies appeal? Maybe they were just trying to get a little one-on-one time with their Starfleet rep."

That description makes Bones twitch. It doesn't even slow Sulu down. "Not possible. They left Spock alone."

Sulu's grin turns fabulous when it hits his eyes, a dark, gleeful gleam Jim needs to match. "Like I said, Snuggles. Interspecies appeal."

Sulu snorts. So does Bones, but Jim already knows what Bones would say. Sulu, though, is still something of an unknown and so far, he's making Jim's feast.

"Yeah, you'll be so appealing in the dress."

Hot, smart, and snarky are three of Jim's favourite things. "Shame I won't be wearing it, then," Jim says artfully. "Still not the bride."

Sulu looks past him and nods to Bones. "Think we could get away with putting him in white?"

"I don't know. It might be a stretch. What else have you got?"

"Eggshell, maybe, but that's not going to do a thing for his eyes. He look like a winter to you?"

"You'll have to look that up," Bones says, almost seriously, and since it sounds like they'll keep themselves amused for the foreseeable future, Jim looks out over the room. Their hosts don't look happy someone else is talking to one of the _brizzah_. Jim doesn't want to guess what that means.

"That's enough, lieutenant," he says, quiet and firm as the chant starting up from a far corner of the hall, but the details of their situation seem to fly right over Sulu's head because he answers, "No, seriously, man, you're the bride."

"Are we still on that?"

Apparently Sulu is, because he fires off as evidence, "Dude, you swoon."

"The hell I do."

"You just did, like, twenty minutes ago." Sulu gives him a vicious _what the fuck nine_ and sketches his frustration with his almost-fork. "Oooh, Mrs. King Huptonawuk, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, let me kiss your hand inappropriately and set back negotiations by a week," he coos, falsetto mimickry. "Sound familiar at all?"

Jim tries his best to look solemn because they're still on display and Sulu's nowhere near quiet enough for a head table bitch. At least the chanting's quietening down. "Oh, honey, you're jealous," Jim coos right back. Lays a hand on Sulu's shoulder and bats his eyes to hide the sharp eyeroll reminder of their crowd. "Don't be like that, baby. You know you're my best girl."

Bones chokes on his roast troll. Jim's feeling pretty good about things so he drops an arm around Sulu's shoulders and tugs him in tight. He's sure--pretty sure--Sulu's not going to stab him with the fork and by now, they both know what's required if they're going to make it through the _brizzah_ feast.

Sulu stares at him cock-eyed and jabs in his direction with the fork. "It's a good thing you're pretty, man, because Jesus Christ."

"Right back at you, Snuggles."

 


	2. Chapter 2

There's no solid evidence of who's rigged the sound effects when Hikaru logs into his helm but the smart money's on Kirk. Everyone else in a position to do it has a healthy fear of his sword or the good sense to know how annoying it'll be for everyone on the bridge.   
  
The first time it comes up, there's this horrible silence that breaks into shit-awful laughter restraint.   
  
"Nice choice, lieutenant," Kirk says through the tinny strains of Here Comes The Bride. "Always preferred Pachibel's Canon myself but whatever works, right?"   
  
Hikaru spends the time it takes to turn it off plotting his revenge, right down to the bribes he'll need to throw Scotty's way and the likelihood he'll find anything suitably awful in the ship's media files.   
  
Pavel titters quietly as he runs a scan. Hikaru shoots him a glare. Pavel mouths carefully, "I can do that," and it makes Hikaru's damned day.   
  
.   
  
It takes Kirk two days to give, which is two days longer than it should. The rest of the ship's been pretty cool about it, mostly, but everyone's damned tired of having Pachibel's Canon piping through the ship's PA everywhere Kirk goes.   
  
As they step off the turbo lift to split up and head home, Kirk calls over his shoulder, "Still not the bride."   
  
Hikaru snickers for the rest of the night.   
  
  


***

  
  
  
Sulu's got him in what Jim's going to pretend is an affectionate headlock. Angry Mr. Redhead still looks pissed off, a heartbeat off hauling out his club and sending Jim back shipside one big bleeding bruise, and Sulu machos up, shoulders squaring around Jim's neck, chin tight and high.  
  
Jim hates the angle he's stuck at because hey, he wants to see it, too. If Sulu's going to get all he-man in Jim's defense, Jim figures the least he can do is look. Or something.  
  
"He is uncontrolled," Angry Mr. Redhead says, teeth bared through his smile.  
  
"I like him reckless." Jim can hear Sulu's smirk. For a guy who doesn't say much at work, Sulu's got this crazy deep voice that makes Jim think stupid things. Naked things. About Sulu, who's going to kick Jim's ass at his earliest convenience.  
  
Angry Mr. Redhead thumps an arm around his redhead and mirrors Sulu's pose. Jim's willing to bet, sight unseen, that Sulu's doing it better. Had way, way more practice is all.  
  
"I do not understand why you allow such disrespect." Angry Mr. Redhead tilts his head, puzzled enough to let it show.  
  
Sulu tightens his grip--fuck, Jim needs to breathe, here--and says, "He knows where I draw the line." Then Sulu draws one of his own, a long nuzzle up Jim's cheek. It’s just ridiculous, how good that feels. "Don't you, Princess?"   
  
Jim bites his lip. Can't let on how hot this is or Sulu'll kill him when they get back to the ship, can't quite control himself enough to play it off. Sulu's all he smells, all the heat in his world, all taut, gold skin and the slight scratch of the uniform against Jim's throat.  
  
Sulu tips Jim's chin up with the sweet side of his fist, meets Jim head-on for a stare that promises a very terse debrief and a mutually convenient case of amnesia if Jim just plays along.  
  
Jim nods slightly. Licks at the corner of his mouth just to watch what that does to Sulu's hard, determined stare.   
  
"You will properly train him when you are wed," Angry Mr. Redhead says sagely, like now he understands.  
  
Jim holds back his sputter--mostly--but Sulu nods sage right back. "Barefoot, pregnant, chained to your chair. I think marriage is going to agree with you, Princess."  
  
.  
  
Jim has three more hours of unexpected contact with his pilot before they beam home to a mutually convenient case of amnesia and a really terse debrief.   
  
  


***

  
  
  
No one's sure, exactly, how Kirk sold himself as the Exchequor's fifth wife but somewhere between their arrival on Planet Silk and the end of their welcome feast, it becomes clear that the natives don't intend to let the captain leave.  
  
No one on the away team's surprised. Not by the hold-up, not by the cause. Certainly not by the news that Kirk's done something inexplicable again. Spock goes into crisis management mode, Nyota turns super-translator to try to clear things up, Doc McCoy growls when they comm up with the news, and Hikaru mostly kicks around, sort of fondling his sword. Everyone needs a hobby.  
  
The Exchequor's people aren't all that inclined to talk and there's sure as shit no sign they'll actually let anyone see Kirk anytime soon, which adds a whole new dimension to Spock's poise. For an alledgedly emotionally repressed Vulcan, Spock's got a dozen stances of pissed and in the year or so Hikaru's been beaming off-ship with him, he thinks he's learned to spot them all.  
  
The one Spock's using now, that's patiently enraged. Hikaru gives him an hour, max, before Spock's nerve-pinching his way through the room. The Academy makes away missions sound like 90 per cent science, 10 per cent hikes. Working on the USS Enterprise skews that to hell.  
  
They're talking, whatever, bride price or some shit, and Spock is adamant that Kirk's not worth four yorgs, whatever the fuck those are. Spock's trying to say Kirk's invaluable to his ship but the Exchequor's peeps are getting pissed off, too, and now they're arguing quietly with themselves about whether Kirk's worth another yorg. Hikaru can't wait to write this report. Really, it'll be fantastic to find appropriate, un-flaggable synonyms for this shit.  
  
The Enterprise crew's all pretty bright and from what Hikaru's seen, the bridge is pretty bright squared. He's thinking everyone's a genius but him, though he'll allow that's debatable. He's pretty fucking smart, too. So he figures Spock's got a plan, some new Steps To Save The Captain that'll be calm and logical and totally within regs, and he figures Nyota knows it, because by God, she knows Spock, and hell, Hikaru can stick this out until he gets an order to move.  
  
Then the Exchequor arrives and it's a whole different game.  
  
Hikaru knows power trips. Seen them his whole damned life, from his grandmother guarding the family from deep, dark shame to the lifestyle kinksters back home in The Bay to the spit-and-polish Admirals running the Fleet like Academy streams are their own private fiefdoms to rule. He's seen kings and queens and chancellors come down on his team, princes and priests and gods on a dozen strange worlds, none of them all that happy to acquiesce to Starfleet's requests.  
  
So yeah, he calls the Exchequor almost right off the mark and there's no point or security in being Enterprise away team if you can't plan on the fly so while Spock butts his head against the brick wall of this yorg thing, Hikaru turns tense, newly attentive to what's being said.  
  
"This is an insult," the Exchequor says and his peeps, his minions, make courteous flutters with their limbs in what Hikaru's guessing is a nod to the boss. He ignores them. "You have been fairly compensated for your tithe. More than fairly compensated, given its worth. You have no further business here."  
  
Spock steels up, looks pretty _die in a fire_. "Captain Kirk is not a gift."  
  
The Exchequor smiles horribly, sharp, blue teeth. He looks like a man who's come up through the ranks, who's truly found himself in war, and since as far as Hikaru can remember, it's pretty peaceful on this world, Hikaru has to wonder how a guy with such blatant bloodlust manages the business of ruling without getting rough.  
  
The hell the captain's staying. He's already been in this asshole's custody too long.  
  
"Your ignorance of tradition is meaningless. You descend upon our world, consume our food, make yourselves free to acquaint yourselves with our fine peoples. Such things are not without value, yes?"  
  
Hikaru can fucking see the Exchequor dismissing Spock out of hand. Spock's not servile, not even close, but he's not pushy, either, too fucking polite in his opening gestures, and he's already shown a willingness to deal. No way Spock's going to get the captain back on his own, not if this asshole has final say.  
  
"We were not informed such measures were not merely acts of hospitality," Spock says, cool and firm. "Such greeting has been common on other worlds through this quadrant. I can assure you, Exchequor, had we been aware your people required payment to receive us, suitable arrangements would have been made."  
  
"Suitable arrangements have been made." Another patronizing smile. "In deference to your favourable intent, we have offered a respectable trade. This is virtually unknown, even for our most treasured allies, and we have made this accommodation in an attempt to--as your people would have it--play fair. Our business is thus concluded, Starfleetian, and I consider it a grave insult to this court that you remain."  
  
"Starfleet will not respond favourably, nor will our ship. You have stolen the captain and I am authorized to use any means necessary to get him back."  
  
Spock's the only person Hikaru knows who could threaten war so calmly, so fucking resolute.  
  
The Exchequor's third eyelid flickers. It's not always easy to translate xeno-centric body language but sometimes, fuck yeah.  
  
"I urge you, Starfleetian; take your yorgs and leave. You will not find us so accommodating, should you remain."  
  
"We will not leave without the captain."  
  
Hikaru doesn't figure the captain's got low self esteem--shit like that doesn't tend to last long in space without going bugfuck insane or heading straight for an airlock between shifts--but he's still kind of sorry Kirk never hears this part, his crew turning badass to get him back. Kirk, he thinks, would love it.  
  
The Exchequor doesn't hear Spock turn badass, though, because the Exchequor's already turned away, talking to his minions in a pitch so low, the translators don't register much. Hikaru figures it's probably the order to have them all killed--some body language transcends the translators and oh yeah, he's picked up _leave none alive_ in alien regent handwaves.  
  
Which makes it his show.  
  
"You can't have the captain; I own his ass."  
  
The Exchequor stops. Turns slow and stares.  
  
Hikaru says, " _Brizzah_ ," soft and calm, just immovably patient, and his gut doesn't stop fluttering until they've got Jim back on the ship.  
  
.   
  
Jim Kirk's not the kind of guy who goes around throwing words like "monogamy" or "wedding" into casual conversation until he finds out why he's not still the Exchequor's fifth wife.  
  
Then, well, it's inevitable. Too good to pass up.  
  
"So, Sulu. Tell me again how you asked." He's got an arm over Sulu's shoulder, a hand on Sulu's chest and for their casual observers, it probably looks like a cuddle. It's making Jim's day.  
  
Sulu's face tightens up. So do his fists, but Jim doesn't think it's a punch Sulu's building. It's probably righteous shame. Jim's got no complaints. He's thought about it, considered that he should probably be insulted or something that his pilot has to fake a relationship with him to get him back to the ship when yet another mission goes weird but whatever. He's not. Maybe it's how cranky everyone gets when he brings it up.   
  
Mostly, though, it's that the whole situation's too damned hilarious to ignore. It's one thing to get recognized due to circumstances beyond their control, something else entirely to bring it up themselves. Laugh or cry territory, really.   
  
Since the casual observers around them are all actually crew, he's not expecting Sulu to stick around. He's really not expecting an answer to his bait of a question but what the hell? If Sulu wants to choke something out, Jim wants to hear what it is.  
  
He flutters his lashes up, close proximity to coy. "Was it romantic? Did you sweep me off my feet?" If he could, he'd totally swoon.  
  
Sulu grinds his teeth. Jim can feel the tension in his throat, how carefully Sulu's holding himself everywhere they touch. "Yeah, captain, I did. Totally. Just threw you down over the conn one night on the bridge and spent, like, an hour doing really filthy things to you before I'd let you up. And, I mean, you just took it. Let me do whatever, the really kinky shit. So I was going to just get it out of my system once and for all, you know? Only you were so good and you fucking loved it and you kept asking for _more, harder, fuck me raw, Sulu, yeah_ , and I figured, y'know, why share?"  
  
It's entirely possible that's the longest thing Jim's ever heard Sulu say at one time but it's the contrast that gets Jim most, Sulu's cool, bland tone and the aural fuck of the imagery. Six months ago, hell, twenty minutes ago, he wouldn't have guessed Sulu had this in him and it's one more contradiction for Jim's mental file.   
  
"So that's a yes to the sweeping," Jim murmurs. Straightens and claps a hand on Sulu's shoulder like he's hanging off Bones, because they still have something of an audience to play to. Can't forget that. "Snuggles, you charmer. You had me at 'yeah'."   
  
"Right. Sweeping. Good one." Sulu laughs grimly and pulls himself away. "Careful, Princess. Wouldn't want to get attached."  
  
  


***

  
  
  
_Hoshit_ , is this stupid. So, so stupid and a really bad idea and yeah, he needs to let go of Jim now before it gets worse. Doesn't change how Jim feels, how his jaw tilts at the lightest fucking touch, how his mouth opens at the slightest hint of tongue, how he kisses back all hot and wet and sloppy because Jesus, they don't have enough time. Jim gets a hand on Hikaru's neck and sort of digs his fingers into it, champagne bursts of sting so damned hot they go perfectly with that little whine-hum he sucks from Jim's throat.  
  
Jim's hand slides down his back again and again, all weird friction in all the wrong spots, and seriously, if Hikaru didn't know better, he'd swear the jackass is trying to climb the wall.  
  
That's a lot hotter than it should be.  
  
Hikaru's lost his mind. He's going to suck himself a little convenient amnesia now, all spit and teeth and suction hard on Jim's bared throat because seriously, _no, shit, seriously,_ there are saints who couldn't turn Jim down.  
  
They, uh, there's a wall--he knew that--and these almost-stone things--yep, caught that, too--and it's a hallway, they're mostly alone but they won't be for long and fuck yeah, they're making the most of it while they can and it's awesome, amazing, all fierce heat, and something falls and crashes and _hoshit, fail_.  
  
They stop dead. Look at each other and fuck, they're both breathing so hard and Jim's eyes are so blue when he's this flushed and his mouth is so wrecked and hoshit, he did that and hell yeah, he's going to do it again.  
  
Fuck whoever walks by. Now that Hikaru's got Jim--Kirk, Christ, let's keep a little distance here, huh?--all ground back into the stone, he can't seem to let the guy go.  
  
It's so much better when Jim gets a hand on his ass, fucking claws it as he pulls Hikaru in and there's some furtive dick contact only just barely mitigated by their pants and then, hey, hofuckyeah, Jim stops trying to climb the wall and starts trying to climb him.  
  
Best. Mission. Ever.  
  
Hikaru means that. Really, he does.   
  
"Fuck, Sulu, come on," Jim pants heavy by his ear and it takes Hikaru way too long to figure out Jim's trying to pull down his pants. In his defense, uh, there's--oh god yeah--licking at his ear. Jim sucks his earlobe, laps up the outer rim and pulls Hikaru's head down so his filthy hot mouth has access to the blunted top like that's somehow important.  
  
Probably it shouldn't be so hot. Hikaru gets a hand down to Jim's waist, gets a decent grip on Jim's hip and holds the needy fucker still for a long, blinding grind and when Jim sputters, "Sp--Spuh--fuck," Hikaru goes straight past pissed, crashes headlong into possessive as hell and takes it out on Jim's neck.  
  
Childish, maybe, leaving hickeys, but Hikaru doesn't care.  
  
"Asshole," he says, then scrapes his teeth rough over what he hopes is Jim's pulse. "I should leave you like this."  
  
Jim sort of whine-whimpers and finally, fucking finally gets a leg hooked over Hikaru's hip. "Yeah, yeah, I'm a bastard. You should break my heart." Then Jim's back at his mouth, pulling his head like it's Jim's favourite suck toy and just going to town. There's a decent chance Jim's licking his tonsils. That's how it feels.  
  
There's, uh, something they should be doing, some diplomatic thing going on just behind those fogged-glass doors and they'll get to it, for serious they will, only first they've got to do this. Like have to. Like no choice.  
  
Hikaru's going with sex pollen because what the hell else could it be? He's sure Jim--Kirk, Kirk, the goddamned captain--wasn't this absolutely suckable when they beamed down and Hikaru's praying he'll eventually black this out because Jesus, this'll be awkward when they get back to the ship.   
  
Jim snarls, "Stopping, stopping; who's the asshole now?" and grinds again, pulls hard and up at HIkaru's shirt and hey, yeah, they're both criminally overdressed.  
  
It's not a problem for long. Jim? Hoshit flexible, for real.  
  
So Hikaru's shirtless in a strange alien hall, sucking the hell out of his boss's throat and leaving all these hot, wet rings and the more he bites, the more it looks like Jim's maybe got a thing for pain--and how is Hikaru just finding this out, this should have been obviously, really--and Jim's weight is the only damned thing holding their pants up now that Jim's unzipped them both.  
  
Got to love the Starfleet uniforms. Relatively easy access and allegedly wrinkle-proof.  
  
They'll know how true that is in a few minutes but if not, it'll be well-earned.  
  
Jim winds with him when Hikaru eases back to, uh, get the lay of land, so to speak, and Hikaru's hand falls over sweat-slick skin to the hella curve of Jim's ass and probably the only complaint Hikaru has about how this is going is that he can't do more than squeeze a cheek because that ass is amazing. Definitely could be a lifetime top ten.  
  
"I want to fuck you," Jim says roughly, unsteady as he squirms again to let Hikaru take his weight and Hikaru tugs him up and in for more dick contact and Jesus, fuck, Jesus it's just so white-hot Hikaru thinks about his knees.  
  
He'll feel like a moron if he drops Jim but fuck, a little warning if Jim's going to blow his mind.  
  
There are a hundred dirty things Hikaru wants to do to the gorgeous slink of captain clamped around his waist. He wants to suck Jim's nipples, wants to bite Jim's ass, wants to feel Jim relaxing to let him in like he wants to feel the burn-sting of being stretched. Wants--fuck it, needs--to make Jim beg.  
  
Jim tips his forehead to Hikaru's cheek and laughs into Hikaru's chest. "Yeah, yeah, Jesus, okay, all of it if you touch my fucking penis now."  
  
Hikaru has an ill-timed moment of the wrong kind of hoshit.  
  
"Fuck it, forget it, you just keep us up," Jim decides, head lifting for another killer kiss. Then Jim's got a fistful of dicks and that's killer, too, and Hikaru's common sense flatlines right there in the hall.  
  
So naturally, that's when someone behind them whooshes open the fogged-glass doors and announces to the assembly of dignitaries that they've found the _brizzah_.  
  
.  
  
Nyota's waiting when he does the Slink of Shame to his seat at the great roundtable of diplomacy, Kirk irritatingly close at his back and probably swaggering smug. Hikaru's always considered Jim Kirk's reputation a self-defense mechanism he doesn't quite understand but Kirk's improbably proud everyone thinks he's an accident of birth off being an Orion slave boy.  
  
He'd be fucking hot all green.  
  
The sole bright point in the mission once he takes his seat is going to be that yeah, the uniform pants are pretty wrinkle-free. Spock tints green but gives Hikaru the slight nod of solidarity, a gesture loaded with stupid things they've done in the name of Jim Kirk.  
  
Nyota, being Nyota, gives Hikaru something perilously close to an eye-fuck of concern.  
  
"Oh, I can't wait to read this report."  
  
.   
  
"Hey, so what are we putting in this report?" It kills him to ask but he needs to know. Mission discrepancies are going to get flagged, which means someone's going to read them all and maybe investigate and that's a mess of Do Not Want. The fewer times he has to say officially that he's been in the captain's pants, the happier he'll be. Really.   
  
Kirk looks up from his game, one piece already palmed. "The truth, lieutenant. We beamed down, took a tour, met the natives, and had ourselves a little cultural exchange. That sound like what you remember?"   
  
Hikaru nods. Spock hovers over the board, intent on Kirk's move, so Hikaru figures if Spock's not objecting to that synapsis, neither is he.   
  
.   
  
"So, what--are you his official significant other now?" Nyota leans in his doorway, arms crossed and the start of a smirk he's not going to be able to escape.   
  
Hikaru scowls. "Yeah. It's totally true love."   
  
Nyota shakes her head. Pushes herself off his doorway to stalk over to his food synthesizer console, where she orders the standard post-shit-mission kit for reckless, idiot flyboys.   
  
"I should update your records," she offers, too-sweet. Hikaru grinds his teeth.   
  
"You should double that whiskey," he counters. It's a pretty small glass. When she throws a glance of vague disdain over her shoulder, he shrugs. "Long day."   
  
She hums but with a few taps more on the console, there's a whole bottle just for him. He's got a hundred reasons to like Nyota Uhura but shit like this just makes him adore her. "Want to tell me why you were all over the captain?"   
  
"Not really, no." What's he supposed to tell her? Aliens made him? Yeah, that'll go over well, and he's pretty sure it's not true. Convenient, maybe, but not necessarily accurate. The captain's always hella hot but he's not usually that lickable.    
  
Hikaru's trying not to think about it. Has the horrible feeling that he'd have done it anyway, sex pollen or no, and thinks maybe Jim would have, too. No, not Jim, _the captain_ , and he needs to keep that clear or he's going to do something stupid. This is not a good night to be alone.   
  
Thank fuck for Nyota.   
  
She's still shakng her head when she slides him the whiskey and his glass; is, in fact, outright snickering when she slides onto his couch, and about the time he wants to remind her his day's sucked quite enough without the damned peanut gallery, she queues up a vid.   
  
Then there's Maverick and Goose taking over the world, one bugged-out MiG shuttle at a time, and it's as close to heaven as a Starfleet pilot can get without losing bits of his uniform or pissing off his boss.   
  
No matter how shit the mission, Top Gun's always the cure.  
  
.   
  
Jim beats Spock twice and loses badly enough to prop up a little Vulcan pride before Spock calls it a night. Jim's not tired enough to sleep, not by a long shot, so he comms Bones.   
  
"I'm not the one you want to talk to," Bones says, and sends him the file.   
  
The results are really interesting but they don't help.   
  
.   
  
"So not sex pollen, then?" Sulu's tight-jawed and tense, staring hard at the floor. Jim knows how he feels. It's been 36 hours and he still can't get Sulu out of his head. If Sulu weren't bridge crew, Jim would be on that like fire.   
  
"A mild neural inhibitor in the atmosphere. Don’t know how we missed it in the scans." Jim's absolutely not mentioning that Spock and Uhura tested positive for it, too. That his judgment’s been more impaired off three beers. It's enough of a clusterfuck as it is. "Lieutenant, I get it. It's fine. I was there, remember? It doesn't have to mean anything you don't want."   
  
A muscle in Sulu's jaw tics. Jim can't stop watching it. He curls his fists, flexes his fingers and digs his nails into his palms. It doesn't help. Sulu's eyes lift, so much darker for their flecks of light, and Jim's going to draw blood to keep his hands where they are.   
  
"I didn't say no," Sulu clarifies. Seems pretty content to leave it there, not push for anything.   
  
"Neither did I." Jim waits for the comeback, the crack about his reputation or the sheer improbability of Jim Kirk saying no. Instead, he gets an appraising look and the tiniest of smiles.   
  
"I’m not saying no," Sulu says lightly and looks Jim over again. "I mean, I don't know if you know this but you're kind of hot."   
  
"Right back at you, lieutenant." God, what Jim wants to do with that smart mouth.   
  
.   
  
Hikaru Sulu’s not the first crew member to catch Jim’s eye. He’s not even top of the fantasy list that first year, because Jim’s got all Spock’s prickly poise to work with, Chekov’s wide-eyed trust, Uhura’s talented tongue, and Pike’s reminder not to fuck this up running through his head, enough of a hands-off indicator that Jim makes it a challenge for himself. He doesn’t get laid every away mission, despite what he’s heard about himself, but he’s got an active imagination and he knows how to make it work for him. At least if he sticks to his hand and the really welcoming hosts, he knows there’s no strings. Out here, that’s important. If he has to go down with his ship someday—and he’s half-convinced he will—he’s not leaving anyone behind.   
  
He got more from his father than the looks and the name.   
  
Jim notices that his pilot’s hot—his whole bridge crew is but his helm is spectacular—but it’s just one more observation for the spank bank until that make-out on the away team. Now that Jim knows how Sulu feels, how he moves and shoves and pulls, Sulu shoots up the fantasy list at warp nine, blows even the thought of Spock well-fucked and wrecked out of Jim’s head. Not that Jim can’t still appreciate that image, he thinks he always will, but when he’s alone in his quarters at night, what gets him going is gold skin and rough hands, Sulu’s snarl in his ear and that heavy sense of frustration when they’d been stopped.   
  
Jim’s not entirely without self control, something no one ever gets but Bones, so he’s still hands-off, head-only about it until that talk, the quick twist of Sulu’s humor, the absolute lack of assumptions going on. He knows his reputation, Jim Kirk: Sure Thing, and mostly, he’s had fun earning it, but it’s interesting that Sulu doesn’t push.   
  
There’s the possibility Sulu’s reserved. Repressed, maybe? So it could just be that Sulu’s not going to push because he just doesn’t do casual. Maybe they’ll never get further than a little light tease, which isn’t that far off how they’ve been. Maybe Sulu’s going to hook up with an Engineering ensign and settle down. He seems like a solid, decent guy. Strings all over, probably, which makes it easier for Jim to keep his hands to himself.   
  
Only, Sulu’s idea of not pushing is really intense, looks that feel like touches, silences that feel like words, the sense that Jim’s far more transparent than he thinks.   
  
Watching back just makes good sense.  
  
.  
  
It takes Sulu three weeks to make his move. Jim’s not sure why, but the wait's been interesting.   
  
.   
  
They beam up from their third _brizzah_ -free mission in a row, scuffed up and breathless and on the full-burn of a well-earned adrenalin high. Kirk slumps against the transporter floor when their patterns set. Hikaru slumps against Kirk. They’re horizontal again—they don’t do it often but Scotty swears they’re the only ones who ever do and Hikaru hasn’t successfully countered that yet—phasers gone and uniforms battered.   
  
“Mr. Scott, report,” Kirk says as Hikaru rolls clear.   
  
“Everyone else is back safe and sound, captain. We’ve just been waiting for a proper lock on the two of you.” Which, uh, sounds about right. They’d been split up by the ambush, used the nearest cover at hand, and it had taken too damned long to get their signal back.   
  
Doc McCoy’s hovering with the bare bones of a medical team and none of them look impressed by what’s just gone down. Hikaru doesn’t look at Kirk, who’s got even less reason to react well, but fuck it, whatever, Hikaru wouldn’t take it back.   
  
Doc McCoy moves in, goes for Kirk straight off, scanner out and up and working before Hikaru’s even caught his breath, already leading Kirk away when Hikaru’s nurse team starts the same.   
  
Kirk stops him a few steps off the pad, waves him off. “Not me, check him.”   
  
Yeah, Hikaru’s going to need another shirt.   
  
“Don’t argue with me, Jim,” the Doc starts.   
  
“No, Bones, I’m fine. The lieutenant was playing human shield.”   
  
The nurses make those scanners move. “Hey, no, I’m good. You should check the capt—”   
  
“Bullshit. You get hit?”   
  
There’s stuff happening, a pair of medical clusters waving things at them and Scotty’s wide-eyed look, but all Hikaru needs to focus on is Jim, here and whole in the relative safety of the ship. “Yeah. I took a bony shoulder to the chest.”   
  
“Don’t push me, lieutenant.”   
  
It’s all Hikaru’s training and too much control not to throw out, “Right back at you, sir.”   
  
Thankfully, his nurses haul him off before he can do anything on that level of dumb.   
  
.   
  
Hikaru’s earned a few dressing-downs in his day, can count on a finger the ones he’s actually received, so when he clears Nurse Chapel’s last checks and finds Kirk propping up a wall outside Sick Bay, he’s not sure what to expect.   
  
There’s chain of command, then there’s letting Kirk get himself killed. Hikaru’s not down with that.   
  
“Lieutenant, a word,” Kirk bites, dark and grim like only Kirk can be when he’s pissed off, still scabbed and scratched and flecked with his own blood. Jim Kirk’s got the makings of a fine masochist, Hikaru swears, and what really gets him is how everyone else thinks it’s good.   
  
Hikaru shrugs. “Mind if we walk and talk? I’ve got to change.” Hikaru pinch-pulls his shirt. When it snaps back, there’s a faint puff of dust.   
  
Kirk fumes. Doesn’t gnaw his lip or scowl or anything, no obvious tells, but there are times Hikaru can see him calculating odds and when he does it without smiling, brows low and jaw tight, Hikaru figures that’s a fume. He’s definitely been watching the captain too much.    
  
There’s a decent chance Hikaru’s dick just saved Kirk’s life.   
  
Kirk opens his mouth. An ensign turns out of a door and starts the long march towards them, which shuts Kirk up. Huh. Interesting.   
  
Kirk won’t say a thing until he’s sure they’re alone and walking the main corridors mid-shift is like asking to be watched. Hikaru takes the next corner to nowhere he finds and when he rounds on Kirk to clear this up, Kirk rounds back.   
  
Hikaru can’t read those eyes but fuck, he wants to.   
  
“What was that?”   
  
“My job.” Hikaru can square off, too. Wills Kirk to remember the rules against letting the captain get killed.    
  
“You hear me give the order to leave, lieutenant?”   
  
“Yeah, I heard it.” Somehow, that makes Kirk grimmer. His eyes flare wide. Hikaru snaps off a proficient, “Yes, sir.”   
  
“And what? You didn’t think it applied to you?”  
  
There’s not much Hikaru can say without permission, which fucking blows. “Permission to speak freely?”   
  
For a moment, he thinks Kirk’s going to say no. “Go ahead.”   
  
He nods sharply, short, tense thanks. “You wouldn’t have made it out of there alone. There were too many of them and at least five were approaching from your rear. In my professional opinion, sir, you were fucked and if I hadn’t gone back when I did, I consider it unlikely you would have come out of there at all.”   
  
“So you disobeyed a direct order? I can handle myself, lieutenant. The science team can’t. And while I appreciate what you thought you were trying to do, you left them alone in hostile, unfamiliar terrain with no way of contacting the ship or protecting themselves.”   
  
What sticks in all that is the appreciation he’s sure Kirk doesn’t mean, his selfless, suicidal streak Hikaru’s seen too many times to just let slide. “They had my phaser and a clear path to higher ground.”   
  
“You don’t know that.”   
  
Point. Fuck. “You didn’t even have that.”   
  
They sort of stare each other down, two stubborn, reckless bastards always running the wrong way.   
  
“I don’t need saving, lieutenant,” Kirk says, and Hikaru snaps back, “Neither do I,” and how that turns into yanking Kirk’s shirtfront, working savage at Kirk’s mouth, Hikaru doesn’t even know.   
  
Fuck, it’s amazing, just a mindfuck of a kiss.   
  
Kirk gets his fists up, too, Hikaru expects contact but can’t predict what kind, and when Kirk’s pulling at his shirt, too, it’s nothing but good, permission to use teeth, gnaw that full curve of Kirk’s lip and flick his tongue against the little ridge of skin he makes when he bites.   
  
Kirk’s got teeth, too. Knows how to use them. They shove at each other, chest-to-chest, and it takes Hikaru a while to let go of Kirk’s shirt, snake a hand around Kirk’s collar to rub at his neck. It’s good, so good, until they hit the wall and thump back to time and place. They stop kissing but neither one of them pulls away. Hikaru thinks maybe they just need to catch their breath but fuck it, whatever, waiting’s done.   
  
“If you don’t want this, you need to tell me now.” He’s so careful not to let himself touch, hand planted on the wall so close to Kirk’s face, he can feel Kirk’s wind-wild hair against his thumb, can’t smell more than dirt and sweat and blood. Adrenalin snap-crackles kinetic, fight or flight, and right now, the distinct possibility of a third choice.   
  
“Your move,” Kirk says.   
  
Option C it is, then.    
  
.   
  
They’re just on each other when the door hisses shut, fast hands and all that built-up fight-or-fuck. They’re rough—he’s rough, Christ, he’s going to leave marks—and not really paying attention as they stumble across the room. Stuff crashes. Something falls. None of it matters next to Kirk, who’s already got their shirts off and who’s making serious headway on his own pants. Or Hikaru’s, maybe. It’s a little hard to tell, hands working that close to his dick and a few quick tugs at his waist.   
  
They hit the bed sideways, crash down themselves in a tangle of legs that turns into kicked-off pants and the wrestle-roll of two guys both trying to get a leg up on each other. It’s funny a little, really Kirk, and Hikaru wins by virtue of some dirty pool.   
  
Jim Kirk’s way too easy to pin. When Hikaru bites the hollow of Kirk’s throat, Kirk arcs up, hips jerking hard then winding slow, a grind that says Kirk’s not above a little dirty pool himself. Hikaru catches a nipple between his teeth, waits for the next roll of Kirk’s dick against him before he sucks hard and Jesus, yeah, that’s incredible. So, so sensitive there. Hikaru swipes his tongue over his new toy, loves the tease on the other side of the pinch himself and hasn’t ever gone far wrong doing it first.   
  
Kirk makes this little sound, curse cut by a swift rush of air that sort of sounds like a groan, and when Hikaru bites-sucks down Kirk’s chest to what soft belly he can reach without letting go of Kirk’s wrists, he hears a whole range.   
  
Needs another run at Kirk’s mouth, lush and wet and open to take. “What can’t I do?”   
  
Kirk wriggles up, tries to bite along Hikaru’s jaw until Hikaru squeezes a little at his wrists. “Nothing, fuck, whatever’s good,” Kirk says and while Hikaru’s processing options, Kirk steals a tongue-sucking kiss.   
  
“What do you like?”   
  
“Everything. Anything. Whatever you want.”   
  
Which isn’t an answer, but it is a start. Hikaru eases up on Jim’s wrists, lifts off a little and traces the hot curve of Jim’s ear with the tip of his tongue. Presses soft, sweet kisses on Jim’s cheek, the start of his jaw until he feels Jim’s hands come down, the mindless roll of his hips slowing in what the fuck. “What do you want, huh? This?” he teases, toys sweet with Kirk’s hair, and then there’s hard hands pulling his, dragging him back for another wreck of a kiss.   
  
“Fuck me,” Kirk snaps. Growls, actually, and Jesus, that’s hot. Pissy submission from Jim Kirk just might make Hikaru’s year. “Just fuck me already. I don’t care how.”   
  
“That’s a shame,” Hikaru breathes into Jim’s ear. A hot little shiver rolls down Kirk’s neck. “You should.”   
  
There’s more to it than just getting off with a convenient body, a reason he actually wants Jim Kirk, and while it kills him to go slow, there’s a good chance it’s going to pay off. Patience. Yeah. Good thing.   
  
Kirk drags him down again, fucking savages his mouth and does his best to grind off on Hikaru’s hip. His hands are tight, hard, fierce nails into the back of Hikaru’s neck until Hikaru takes the point.   
  
He doesn’t suck Kirk’s cock, doesn’t give Kirk room to make a play for his, just rakes his nails light down Kirk’s chest as he straddles Kirk’s thighs and gets a loose grip on Kirk’s shaft.   
  
Squeezes deliberately just below the head and watches what that does to Kirk’s face. Hikaru considers rules, can’t tell if Kirk would get more out of breaking them deliberately or if he’d actually try for self-control. Decides there’s too much risk Kirk would just play along, which defeats the point, so he skips it to jerk Kirk’s shaft with fencer’s finesse.   
  
It doesn’t take long to get Kirk on the edge, eyes bright and skin flushed this lovely, lickable pink, and when Hikaru leans down to stripe his tongue over Kirk’s salty cheek, Kirk makes his play. Hauls Hikaru down off-balance, rolls them both to the side and fights for clearance to Hikaru’s dick.   
  
It’s the Jim Kirk Hikaru wants, all fight-or-flight confused, fucking on an adrenalin high that ignores things like should in favour of need and want and good. Easy enough to get Kirk pinned again and at least that passive shit’s gone.   
  
The Kirk he knows isn’t a passive guy and if that’s his idea of submission, he’s missed the point.   
  
He’s so careful, patient as he stretches Kirk’s ass, slicks them both up and aligns in his dick. There’s good pain, nails and teeth and marks, and there’s the hoshit fuck-up of bad pain going too fast. If Kirk’s not going to take that into consideration, it’s going to have to be Hikaru’s job.   
  
Once he’s in, all bets are off. Kirk’s tight and slick, making more of those gorgeous little sounds and fighting Hikaru’s grip on his hips. There’s only so much Hikaru can take and when Kirk snarls a hand in his hair, jerk-twists a nipple and pulls, Hikaru gets the hell on with the hard, rough slams.   
  
He’s never going to get enough of how Kirk moves, the way he bucks up into it, rides each thrust out like he’s born for it. His eyelashes flutter low when Hikaru’s balls-deep and when Hikaru finds Kirk’s prostate, Kirk leads with his chin.   
  
When he comes, it’s all wide eyes and slack hands, wet stripes and an impossible arch. After that, Hikaru doesn’t last long, white noise and salt and blown-wide blue with him when he comes.   
  
.  
  
Jim spends a day touching the marks, jerks off that night remembering how he got them, all the ones he thinks he left. He doesn’t know what set Sulu off but he’s pretty sure it’s going to happen again.   
  
He thinks he's looking forward to it.   
  
.   
  
It does. Repeatedly. Nothing set, nothing planned, just accidents and random hook-ups, and it's good. Really good. Even better than Jim expects, and Jim expects a lot from Hikaru Sulu.    
  
It has nothing to do with _brizzah_ and that's how they plan to keep it.    
  
  



	3. Chapter 3

Hikaru doesn't even notice when they start getting hitched until Kirk resends him a Subsection 6 claim with notes on where to sign. It's vaguely familiar the way most forms are, bureaucratic bland with far too much text and a slew of filing codes to help the auto-processing on the other end, and he almost doesn't notice what's written small beneath his signature slot.

Almost.

Hikaru doesn't freak out much but the phrase "associate spouse" does it.

.

"Hey, whoa, we got married? When was this?" He grabs Kirk's arm, hovers too close in the turbo lift to lunch, and Kirk pulls a charming grin-and-wink that says it's no big deal.

"Aw, Snuggles, you're such a romantic," Kirk teases, which doesn't help.

"When was this?" Hikaru whisper-hisses, because it seems like something he should know, whether he's married or not, but apparently he doesn't? 

Kirk's look turns assessing; Hikaru doesn't know for what. "Which time?" Hikaru's grip flexes tighter on Kirk's arm. He'd better be kidding. Kirk sighs. "Mission before last."

"Planet Funky Chicken?"

"You ever show Spock your mission reports? Because that would be hilarious."

Hikaru gives him a dirty look. "Fine. Lall. Whatever. Not really the point here."

Kirk says, "Huh." Again with the not-helpful, but he seems to be carefully choosing his words, which suggests it might be a big deal, after all. "You hear what their ambassador said before we had the dinner?"

"Not really, no." _Brizzah_ stuff, as Hikaru recalls, which sounds more and more like _blah blah blah fated_ and _blah blah blah soulmate_ every time it comes up. It's nothing close to the reality, all dark corners and fast hands and the slick feel of skin, but it's a trick in the interstellar exploration trade and it's worked so far, so he tunes it out to nod and smile so long as there's no hostility from their hosts.

Sitting through ambassadorial speeches is somehow part of his job, one he survives by mentally manning his helm and sliding his ship into warp.

"Right." Kirk nods. Doesn't say anything about Hikaru's obvious inattention, which probably means he's inappropriately amused. He'd bet Kirk tunes them out a lot, too. "We came, we sang, we _came_ , we chanted? There you go."

The only reason that doesn't freak Hikaru out more is his bone-deep surety that Jim Kirk isn't a marrying guy. If it was going to stick, Hikaru wouldn't be freaking out alone.

"That was a week ago. We've been married for a week?"

"Sort of. Starfleet Command sent back the file because you forgot to sign the Subsection 6 claim but once you get that done, they'll dissolve it overnight." Then Kirk smiles, honestly happy in his smug, exhausted way. "At least, they're usually that fast."

"Usually?"

Kirk shrugs. "We've only had three so far--this is our fourth--but yeah, generally it's same-day approval."

Hikaru's still kind of stuck on _married_ , to Jim Kirk, of all people, and it seems unfair that Hikaru didn't get to see Kirk freak out the first time it happened. He's not sure how he missed that but Jesus, he's sorry.

"Fourth?" Hikaru repeats carefully.

Kirk ticks them off: the eternity chalice with the blue grape juice on Yomor, the local flora chains on Naruuth Prime, the bonding vestments on Sgiba, and the feathered hopping dance on Lall. Yeah, that's four, and Hikaru actually remembers them, which doesn't sit right.

"You're sure they're all weddings?"

"Yeah, I'm sure."

"And you didn't think to bring this up?"

Kirk looks almost disappointed. "I didn't think I had to. You really didn't know?"

Hikaru waves a hand uselessly. "I thought, you know, _brizzah_."

"Why do you think they picked us?"

That makes a lot of sense. Huh. "So, Subsection 6...?"

Which is when Kirk explains about General Order 34, which basically requires him to play along with the natives, and the subsection loophole for annulments.

It's the best thing Hikaru's heard in days.

.

Jim tells himself it doesn't matter, it's a few more hours and a little clerical operation until he's clear, which usually makes him feel better. Marriage isn't something he does, just too much commitment to something besides his ship, a mess of ties and vows and obligations, and every time it happens, he counts the hours until it's fixed. Waits for something to go wrong, because he knows bureaucracies do, and when Starfleet kicks back his Lall request, Jim has a moment of blind panic that this is the time it trapped him. He has to check the lifetime cap again and no, they're nowhere close, but he's not convinced until he sees it scrolling on his screen in the austere waffle of a Starfleet command.

Aliens can make him get married but they can't make it stick.

The only reason he hasn't gone off completely is that so far, Sulu's been all right about it. No jokes, which Jim's not completely sure he could take yet, and definitely no conversation. It's just another thing they do sometimes, like how they sometimes have to hold hands and publicly cuddle, and it's fine as long as they both just leave it alone.

Then Jim finds out the only reason Sulu's been so cool is because Sulu didn't notice, and Jim's not sure what to think. He can't exactly call it freaking, how Sulu grabbed him in the turbo lift, but he's not sure what that was. Jim wants to call it panic because it would be nice to not be the only one sometimes, but Sulu stayed too calm, a bit too rock-steady to fit that description.

Sulu buys him lunch--"I'm not going to be your kept woman"--and pretty much just leaves it there and then they're back at work, wrapping a shift, and Jim's alone in his quarters watching the clock, married until he hears back from Starfleet Command.

He's trying to resist the urge to quadruple-check their request claim for the mistake that'll drag this out longer. It's already been a week and now Sulu knows. Jim's managing to keep out of his inbox solely by telling himself that's obsessive; since the claim's already been sent, there's nothing he can do but wait.

Jim's not great with waiting.

Then Sulu rings his door chime, bottle of Scotty's homebrew in hand.

"Something I can do for you, lieutenant?"

Sulu points the business end of the bottle at Jim's chest. "Happy annulment?"

"You don't think that's a little premature?"

"Some reason it would be?"

There's an answer that means conversation and one that means sex , so Jim says, "No." Jim blows out a breath.  "You're sure you're okay with this?"

Married is big, even with Subsection 6, and at least Jim's got the relief of past approvals to help him wait. All Sulu's got is a few hours, Jim's word, and whatever regulation research he's done.

"Not gonna lie, I'll be better when it comes back approved but yeah, generally, I'm good. You say it'll work out, I figure you'd know." Sulu flashes him an optimistic smile. "I mean, you had my back on all the others, right?"

"Right. So. Happy annulment, huh? Just thought you’d swing by for a little thank-God-it's-over drink?"

"I wouldn't say no."

And from there, it's a whole lot easier to wait.

.

Sulu leans him back against the couch, muscles in with a shoulder to wedge Jim pinned and goes for the fly on Jim's pants like it's a matter of personal offense. Sulu's got good instincts and really good hands.

There's no kissing, nothing remotely soft, which Jim gets and appreciates and loves, how Sulu just gets what this isn't going to be. It's not a fight, exactly, but it's closer than it usually is and so far, they've already kicked off most of the cushions on Jim's couch as they wrestled it out. It would have been a fair fight if it weren't for those hands, but then, Jim should have expected his fencing pilot to have a really stellar grip.

Sulu never looks as strong as he is. That needs to stop taking Jim by surprise.

They don't speak. Don't bruise or scratch or bite, which is a whole lot harder than Jim thinks it should be, but when he thinks about marking Sulu--hot, so hot, those marks when Sulu's collar slips--he thinks about territory and possession and ownership, responsibility, and that's just all sorts of no tonight.

Jim angles his pelvis to help Sulu work his pants down, rolls his hips when Sulu gets a hand on his dick, and has to remind himself that right now, eye contact is bad. This is about cutting strings they don't have, a mutual reminder that it's just sex, whatever the quadrant believes, and when Sulu squeezes, jerks hard to the right, Jim's head thunks back so he won't do anything stupid with that suckable line of Sulu's jaw.

Sulu has a vowelless protest for something, fuck knows what, but he grinds his dick impatiently on Jim's thigh and drags down Jim's hand, stops jerking Jim off until Jim gets a clue.

While Jim's kicking off his pants, he kicks them both off the couch completely, slides them off the skewed cushion and rolls them a little on his floor. There's no coffee table to hit, which makes Jim ridiculously happy they're not at Sulu's place instead, and it's a little dirty hand-to-hand to get himself on top.

From there, Jim wants skin, all the warm-smooth-gold he can get, and it's easy enough to achieve when he sits on Sulu's thighs, tugs on Sulu's shirt.

He doesn't mean the eye contact, has been actively avoiding it tonight, but he slips, finds Sulu staring hot and focused, like he plans to take Jim down, and it's a gut-punch of lust when Sulu hikes a brow and peels his shirt off in one slick move.

Sulu doesn't just go for Jim's shirt, he attacks it, pulls it over Jim's head and gets those hands on Jim's chest, that firm mouth blitz-dragging over Jim's collarbone where he usually sucks-bites, and it's not until Sulu flips them again that Jim figures out he's playing dirty pool.

Jim has no complaints.

Sulu has this thing about Jim's ass, specifically his hands on Jim's ass, which fits nicely with the thing Jim has about Sulu's hands, so the first dig of fingers makes Jim jerk his hips. Now that Sulu's got room to work with, he's neglecting Jim's dick, which would be worth correcting only Sulu's working Jim over in a meticulous assault. That tends to work out pretty well so Jim just leaves him to it, runs his hands over everything he can reach to soak up the feeling of that skin.

There's a bed handy, a drawer of lube and protection not far away, but they don't leave the floor. Jim likes Sulu's prep, easy fingers and moderated stretch, and he hasn't gone wrong yet putting Sulu's dick in his ass, but it's not about penetration tonight. By unspoken agreement, this is all messy handjobs and rolling each other around the floor. Proof there's no strings, no expectations at all, and Jim really likes how they're both on the same page without talking it out. Sulu digs in hard to Jim's ass, fingers curling deep enough for the shiver-sting of nails, and he licks his own hand, wraps both their dicks, and maybe it's been a long night, maybe it's how hot that is, but Jim doesn't last long before he’s burying his face in the sweat-soap-salt of Sulu's shoulder and coming hard.

Sulu can't be far behind, because Jim's still buzzing when Sulu drops down beside him and rolls onto his back.

"So, you ready for that drink now?" Jim tries, calmer than he's been all week.

Sulu breathes hard through a grin. "Nah, keep it. Swing by with it tomorrow, we'll try again."

That's just cagey enough to mean annulment sex, round two. "Sounds like a plan."

Sulu pulls himself up, tugs himself dressed--huh, they never did get those pants off completely--and heads for the door in a lazy, loose-limbed stroll. It's a surprisingly compelling view. "Hey, and Kirk? Thanks. Best annulment yet."

Then Sulu's gone in a hiss-slip of Jim's door. Jim stays where he is, gives serious consideration to just crashing out on his floor where he's at least reasonably comfortable and won't have to move.

Says to no one, his floor, his ship, the quadrant, "Happy annulment to us."

.

Kirk says this annulment deal's a sure thing and Hikaru believes him, but the sixth time he signs the request--and seriously, how'd he think this was a standard part of a mission report?--he figures he should probably look it up again. Six accidental marriages on newly-explored worlds has to be hitting a few alarms at Starfleet HQ and Hikaru's waiting for the comm to explain what's going on to some mid-level processing clerk. He can't wait for the questions about the wedding sneeze on Octorl.

Hikaru knows about the cap, he's heard Spock cite it cold and when Kirk files the claims, they both have to sign off that they haven't hit it yet, but six feels weird, a run of really bizarre luck, and Hikaru needs to see the Subsection for himself.

It's still at 25. On a career, sure, and he's not even three years into his first assignment, but what are the chances he's going to hit that? At this rate, even with the _brizzah_ and all, he's going to max out at 18, which suits him just fine.

Besides, at some point, this quadrant's going to get tired of marrying them off.

.

They hit a rough run, hostile planets not secure enough for an away team at all, a humanitarian aid call that leaves Kirk grim, a kink in their impulse engine that keeps Scotty clucking through the ship while Hikaru and Pavel--mostly Hikaru but Pavel helps--running simulations until Scotty's worked it out, and a diplomatic transport that makes Hikaru feel like a glorified shuttle pilot. Everything's good, mostly, normal again, and when they get back to the primary mission, it's been four whole months without _brizzah_.

Hikaru doesn't even know he's missed it until they beam down on their third away mission back and upon introduction, he's got a swarm of happy natives on his hands, singing as they drag him and Kirk down to the river.

.

There's a general theory aboard the Enterprise that things don't happen unless Scotty starts the betting pool, and since they don't talk about _brizzah_ on the ship beyond the bridge and the strictly need-to-knows on the crew, it stays surreal for a while.

Then, mid-babble while they're running standard checks on the propulsion system, Scotty asks, "Do you think you'll make fifteen, lad?"

"Fifteen whats? Where are you looking?"

"Weddings with the captain," Scotty says, like it's the most natural thing in the world.

Hikaru catches Pavel's smirk, which is coming along nicely, and suspects a curly Russian rat. "Uh, no."

"Well, not to influence you at all, but if you could keep it under twenty, I'd be obliged. There's a fair amount riding on it."

Twenty? Jesus Christ. "We're not even at ten," he says, horrified at the thought, and Jim pipes up, "Twelve," from his chair and Hikaru's compelled to turn and scowl. It's not nearly as effective as Spock on a bad day but it does the job.

"Not even at ten," he repeats slowly, each word distinct. Jim flashes him ten fingers, then two more, points at him and mimes the awkward dance he learned at their last _brizzah_ feast. "That one didn't count."

"What's that?" Scotty asks. Jim leans back at an angle in his chair and grins like he knows he owns all of space. Coughs, "Did so," into his fist.

"Hang on, Scotty, I think Kirk needs a hug."

"Well, you'd be the one for it, aye?" Scotty's cheerful answer does nothing to improve Hikaru's mood, which is going to drop down to pissed if Jim doesn't knock it off.

"All right, Princess, if it's really twelve, why haven't I signed twelve requests?" That, at least, knocks off a little of the smug coming from the chair. "Yeah, that's what I thought. So like I said, nine."

"You said ten," Pavel corrects him, ever helpful at all the wrong times. Hikaru snaps and points at him.

"I'm making a list and you're on it."

"You did say ten," Scotty pipes up.

"You're on it, too. Anyone else?" Hikaru purposely does not look at Nyota, who's probably killing herself at her comm.

"If you compared events with the captain, lieutenant, a suitable count could be established," Spock says, all neat, crisp logic. Even across the bridge, Hikaru hears Nyota snort. He can all-too-easily imagine her slapping a hand over her mouth at the sound.

"Yeah, I don't think so." The whole thing's so ridiculous, he can't get any of the stories out with a straight face, which he doesn't mind usually only right now, it's pissing him off. "Hey, that thing with the Kauglae, we said that didn't count. Remember, we had a deal?"

Nyota absently corrects his pronunciation of the planet name, then snickers again. There's no damned sympathy on this bridge. Not that he wants sympathy from them, exactly, but he's not stupid enough to not be keeping track. What kind of moron doesn't know how many times they've been married, right?

"Yeah, whatever. Planet Hop. They didn't expressly say married so it doesn't count."

It's a sad, sad statement that they need a policy at all but sometimes, honestly, it's hard to tell what's going on. Every planet that gets worked up about the _brizzah_ thing deals with a different way, usually wraps up their visit in a feast and some high, holy rite, and somewhere between kissing babies on Ramoh Prime and wearing the breeding hats on Wa, they figured they needed rules. If they Subsectioned 6 everything strange they did in the name of _brizzah_ , they'd be filing constantly.

Jim's smug look fades. Hikaru wants to think that's Jim realizing he's wrong but probably it's just him picking up Hikaru's mood. For a guy who rolls through life, Jim's uncommonly astute.

"No, but the Qaltqs did."

"The who?" Planet Rubber Fish or Planet Not-Pears? He knows the planets insofar as setting a course but it's hard to distinguish missions after the fact. Easier, much easier, to personalize them for himself, and so far, the only one who plays along even a little is Jim.

"Planet Giant Plants," Jim says quietly, and Hikaru vaguely remembers an extended walking tour of the palace grounds, their guard's voice high and fast, a garden worth a second look and not much else.

"They, uh. Really? We didn't even. Uh." No rites, that's what he remembers. No pretty words, no stuffy ceremonies, just a nice place with some kickass plants, and it can't be a wedding without some kind of rite, can it?

"We did walk their path of eternal love."

"That's not married." That's actually par for the course. They get bombarded with the most romantic aspects of a world on most of the planets they explore. He's a walking, talking, dating guidebook and yeah, he could have lived without that honour.

"What did your translator call that big green stone?"

"It had a name?" Jim doesn't answer him but then, what else does he need Jim to say? Hikaru sighs. Rubs his temples and thinks fondly of his days before _brizzah_. "Get me the form."

.

Spock decides it's a good night for chess so Jim bumps up their weekly game. Hikaru braces for Nyota's inevitable invasion of his room. Doesn't believe for a second the schedule shift has anything to do with chess and wonders how honest he can afford to be when Nyota's questions start.

.

"Want to tell me why you're not keeping track?"

"No, I am. It's just harder than it seems."

She pats his arm, rubs it briskly, and refills his drink. "Hikaru, you can't keep doing this if it's going to upset you. I know it's convenient and all but if it's bothering you, it has to stop."

"We didn't deck out in dresses and elope. We walked through a garden. They didn't even look at me, Nyota, they didn't acknowledge anyone but Jim. I think I'm allowed to be confused when they're going to be marrying us without actually, you know, addressing us both. Right? I don't think that's unreasonable."

"It's not," she says. Settles in beside him and turns on the vid.

Ten minutes later, he's wallowing in whiskey, dogfights, and his best friend.

It's been a pretty Maverick kind of year.

.

Wedding fifteen's one for the books, and not just because Jim's the one who's lost count.

They're naked in mud-paint, a pound of feathers carefully applied to Hikaru's head because apparently Jim's said he's the bride, and in the way of absolute disasters on away missions, of course there's vid. They beam up shortly after the service, scared off by the distinct possibility that their hosts planned to make them the wedding feast and delayed only by their lack of comms. Jim's reached a whole new level of manic grin and Hikaru feels strung tight, a wrong breath from the snapping point.

Marrying Jim's fine as long as there's Subsection 6 and all but he's pretty sure the feathers are permanently attached. If anyone would have that tech, it's going to be the angry away-team eating birds.

"Ah, there you are," Scotty says and his whole face falls when he actually looks. He can get in line. Hikaru's not thrilled about it himself. "Were you not wearing uniforms when you left?"

"Congrats, Scotty. You were right. Fifteen with a bullet, and I didn't even think we'd make ten."

"Really? Fifteen?" Scotty looks fascinated and distraught. Hikaru hopes it's at least a little on his behalf. Not that he wants sympathy but distraught, yeah, he'll take that this time. "I...The feathers are new as well, aye?"

"Brand spanking." The prospect of being plucked isn't exactly making his day and Jim's apparently all out of ways to wince. He's been doing it since Hikaru's new additions were unveiled, and seriously, the next time Jim starts up about the hoshit expressions, Hikaru's totally going to make that face. 

The doc starts to speak. Jim cuts him off. "Not now, Bones. Please, God, not now." Jim wipes at his face. The mud-paint doesn't move. "Any chance we could get some blankets up in here? I'd rather not run naked through the ship."

The doc looks somewhere between mutinous and hysterical. Chapel keeps a straight face, professionalism all the way, but she's the only one who does.

While they wait for someone to cough up something they can use to cover up for the hike to Sick Bay, Hikaru snags a seat and lets Chapel and the doc start scanning around his head.

Jim sits beside him on the edge of the transporter pad. It should still be weird, all of it, but it's not. Hikaru figures this quadrant's lost its collective mind and now, slowly, so is the crew.

Jim nudges him with a knee. "Fifteen, huh?"

"Yeah. This one's fifteen." Jim wants to protest. Hikaru understands the urge, because how is this shit even possible? And yet. Hikaru holds up a finger, unfeathered and only slightly tinged blue. "What was the last claim you filed?"

"The, uh, I think Gorval. The place with the really clear sky. You had your--" Jim clams up and squirms, which is enough. He'd had a prolonged pilot geek-out over the Gorvalian flight tech, light years beyond anything he's flown outside of space. Hikaru can't imagine himself living on a single planet, only flying through a single stratosphere, but for flight tech like that, he might just change his mind.

And yeah, hell yeah, he'd had an inappropriately happy reaction to the really gorgeous tech but it's not like that's new. His mech kink's older than his first kiss and hey, it's not like Jim's had any complaints about taking care of it before.  
Since no one in the transporter room really needs to hear about the captain's deepthroating skills, however fabulous, Hikaru wriggles in for a pointed look and a little contact, thigh to mud-painted thigh.

"Right, okay, but what about the thing on Rysa? Lots of ribbons, everyone had beards, ringing any bells?"

Jim doesn't say hoshit, doesn't say a thing. Hikaru hears it anyway.

.

It takes Chapel and her crack team of nurses way too long to get him plucked and genetically unmodified. Jim's waiting in the doc's office when Hikaru's done and as Hikaru pulls on his new shirt, Jim's already making their excuses for skipping dinner again.

"Fifteen, huh?" Jim says as he steers them to the turbo lift and, please God, their quarters. "Don't know how I missed that."

"Distracted by the feathers?"

Jim laughs. Leans forward and steals a kiss, nothing but the wet slide of his tongue and the rough heat of his hands until Jim's dragging them down the hall. 

.

"Hey, Sulu, in case I didn't say this before, you were a really pretty bride," Jim says when Hikaru's got him stripped, wrists pinned to Jim's bed, legs wrapped around Hikaru's thighs, Jim's whole body a tease and for that, Hikaru makes him beg.

.

Five missions later they're dressed for the h'yjjat dance, filmy feather-scales cut porn-low, the sickly sweet smoke of local incense burnt into their hair, seeping through the transporter room. Bones doesn't even look surprised by how Jim comes home anymore but Scotty, God love him, Scotty still does.

Jim has to marvel at the guy's constant amazement.

Sulu waves his three feet of headdress at Scotty's console when the last of their patterns has set. "Hey, congrats, man. Seventeen with a bullet. Who does that leave in the pool?"

"Seventeen, is it?" No, no, it's not. Scotty turns thoughtful. "I'm impressed. Didn't think you'd get past 12 myself. I'll have to update my spreadsheet and get back to you."

Jim heads over to Bones, who's got the grim look of hyposprays and another long talk before he signs off on Jim's clearance. The tox scans are going to be fun, always are when Bones runs them, which means he's got hours maybe before he's alone. Jim doesn't like that. He doesn't want a goddamned audience right now.

"Belay that, Mr. Scott." 

Scotty gives him a reluctant, "Aye, captain."

Sulu sticks his wild round of feathers under his arm and heads over to Chapel so she can start running her scans on their way to Sick Bay. "What, we're not counting them until we've actually sent the request in now? When did that start?"

Sulu's had a good mission. Done what they'd asked, worn what they'd given him, just generally treated it like no big deal, and he's come back with puppy enthusiasm and a feathered crown, their hosts' gift to the _brizzah_. Jim can't even look at him. "We're still at sixteen." 

"Hey, no, I definitely heard 'married'." And Sulu's right there beside him, damn it, loose and easy like he doesn't give a damn, no big anything to think about, and that's sore spot, too, because Sulu's a pretty smart guy, so how did he miss this?

Jim can't help himself. Knows he's got Bones and Sulu and the whole damned room maybe watching him react, most of whom can read him pretty well when they want, but Sulu gets it wrong, wrong, wrong, misses the whole point of the mission and their stupid, feathered dance, and Jim shudders lightly. Shutters. "They thought we already were."

.

It's not annulment sex the next night when Jim stops by his room. Honestly, Hikaru doesn't know what it is. Thinks maybe Jim doesn't, either.

He's still not saying no. Then Jim's on him, tight control masked by careless seduction, and Hikaru's not saying anything at all beyond _yes_ and _more_ and _Jesus_.


	4. Chapter 4

Honestly, it’s all good until the goat thing. The sacred beast of Nyremesa and its translator-boggling cult followers and really, really, it’s all good until the laying on of hands and Toothless McSpearHappy saying something in the click-click tongue they don’t understand.

That’s, uh, unfortunate, because they parse enough from the somewhat more discernable mothertongue of the non-cultist villagers to figure out there’s a marriage implied but not enough to actually sort out how to fill out that form. Either they’ve been married by the goat, which is remarkable for its own sake, or they’ve been married to the goat, in which case, no one at Starfleet Command ever needs to know.

Ever.

Some things don’t just stay in the personnel files, even tagged confidential, and neither of them want to hear bestiality jokes for the rest of their careers. It seems better not to tempt that impulse control.

.

Thing is, Jim’s been weird for a while. Since not-17, if Hikaru thinks about it, which he doesn’t because it’s not a thing. They’re not Nyota-and-Spock, they’re Sulu and Kirk, and if sometimes there’s sex involved, mutually-beneficial, ridiculously hot sex, well, sometimes there isn’t. It depends. They’re busy, missions and transit, paperwork and the personnel sides of their jobs. Sure, they work on the same bridge and yeah, their quarters aren’t all that far apart, but they’ve got other people in their lives, friends they won’t cut out on and co-workers to help.

So what if Jim comes around less? Who cares if there’s no sex at all, annulment or otherwise, between actual-17 and 19? No strings, no attachments, no one gets hurt. It’s the only way to do it right.

So yeah, Jim sort of disappears for a while and yeah, when he comes back, he’s not really chatty about it, but that’s fine. They don’t have to talk. One night Jim’s at his door, eyes bright and disheveled, out of uniform with no patience to spare.

They don’t even make it to his couch but holy fuck, it’s good. Jim just sinks onto him, spit-fingered prep and a rush of tight, wet, heat sucking him in and as he lets Jim ride, take what he needs, Hikaru curls a hand around the back of Jim’s neck to suck deep red welts from collarbone to ear and back again, just to be thorough.

He leaves teeth marks again. Finds a bruise on his hip later from where Jim knocked him into his coffee table. So maybe it’s weird and undefinable but it works and it’s good, and that’s all he ever asks.

Nyota tells him he’s being an idiot and makes him watch Pride and Prejudice three weeks straight. He’s not sure what she knows, if she knows who or just knows there’s someone, but for all the times she’s thrown on Maverick because he’s had a sucky day, he’ll watch anything she wants.

Then, thank fuck, she decides he’s romance resistant and they get back to watching shit blow up while Jim and Spock play chess in some other corner of the ship.

.

Jim had plans. Good ones. He was going to be a hero, which he is, and he was going to be a captain, which he is, and he was going to be his father. Do the Right Thing when it counts, no questions, no hesitation, no regrets. No attachments.

That’s a lot easier before the goat.

Then he thinks about things. Things. Who he’d call with his last minute—Bones, got to be Bones, only…—who he’d save. He doesn’t like to think of it as leaving someone behind, because he wouldn’t be, he wouldn’t be attached so there’d be no one to leave, but the more he thinks about history and destiny and timelines, the more sure he is that that’s how it’s going to work out. He’s okay with that. Live fast, die young, and he’s going to leave a beautiful photo for the memorial, though he’s less convinced about the corpse. Depends on how it happens, he thinks, but the how’s not important. It’s all about the why.

He’s not suicidal. He’s not. Wouldn’t have passed the command testing if they honestly thought he’d go chasing death, but he’s not afraid of it. Has no reason to be if he lives his life right.

Then, the goat, and the simplest damned binary he’s ever found. Married by or married to, and for as obvious as that is, he’s got a sinking feeling that if he changed the goat variable, the results would be the same.

That feels an awful lot like attachment. Like Bones but more, because he can imagine himself calling Bones on his transport, saying goodbye, but Bones didn’t track him down through trolls or laugh hysterically in Toothless McSpearHappy’s face. Bones patches him up and keeps him working but Bones wasn’t the one jumping for that drill, and the more Jim thinks about that part, the more he starts wondering which picture he’ll need.

His mother swore once that given a chance, she’d have dragged his father off that ship, whether or not she knew she’d still make it out alive. He gets that now. Wishes hard and fast and brutal that he still had no clue because languages and physics and Starfleet code, that’s all dead simple next to this.

So he pulls back for perspective and swears he’ll get his head straight.

He can’t even hold out through 19.

.

And maybe if Hikaru had pushed, if Jim had resisted, it would have stopped then. _Brizzah_ ’s the public face on an image, soulmate-squared, but it’s got nothing to do with who they are beyond that, how they interact, and it’s just one side of the show.

Thing is, realistically, Jim’s not always the princess and he’s not the only one who looks good to the trolls.

.

“Holy shit, holy shit, what the fuck was that thing?” Hikaru snaps as he rolls up to something he wants to call cover for now. Jim doesn’t look at him, can’t, he’s too busy with crossfire and beast containment and Jesus Christ, if that thing makes another pass at them, Hikaru’s toast.

That’s enough to get him moving again because damn it, he’s not going out on his ass, but realistically, he’s not leaving until it’s dead. There’s no way he’ll outrun it in this terrain and he’s somehow lost his fucking comm and this mission? Straight to the top of his shit list, photon fast.

Jim snarls something. Fuck knows what but there’s another round of phaser fire and Jim clamped to his side and the holy light that makes him a believer in the religion of Montgomery Scott and his trusty transporter beam.

He feels better when he sees Scotty’s round face, better still when he sees Chapel move in with the force of suns, but the blood seems to drain out of him, literally, when the doc moves past Jim and starts snapping orders, apparently about him.

Huh.

.

Jim spends most of the night in Bones’s office killing time and waiting for results. No one on Planet Fang tried to marry them, thank fuck, but he’s never felt more _brizzah_ in his life.

.

The first thing Hikaru asks Chapel when she comes to take his scans is about Jim. She doesn’t even try to dispense the sedative until he’s acknowledged her nod, sunk back into his biobed with relief, and for that alone, he loves her, too.

.

“Okay, I think you need to tell me what’s going on with you now,” Nyota says, arms folded across her chest. He’s home again, back in his quarters, and he’s okay, even the doc says so, so he should have been expecting this visit. He’s not disappointed at all that it’s Nyota at his door.

He rubs a hand over his face. “There’s nothing going on.”

She wants to rehash the incident, very did you go back, and Hikaru’s not talking about that with anyone who wasn’t there because sometimes, situational ethics apply and yeah, Nyota means well, but there’s no way she’ll understand.

“You’re as bad as Kirk,” she says, the height of frustration where Nyota’s concerned.

Hikaru lifts his brows and frowns mildly. “Well, we are _brizzah_.”

.

When Jim comes again, he stays across the room. Doesn’t say much, doesn’t ask much, but he’s there and that works, too. Not sex but something Hikaru’s not even going to try to name and when Jim says he’s leaving, Hikaru gets up to see him out and spends the next ten minutes being kissed against his wall.

Jim’s so careful, like he’s still hurt, and he can’t seem to leave Hikaru’s mouth alone. Hikaru begs a little when Jim palms his dick and strokes, because if there’s room for one of them in the rough of Jim’s hand, there’s definitely room enough for both, and Jim won’t let him do anything but feel, Jim’s hand working over him between their careful thrusts, his whole world the flushed heat of Jim’s skin and the new stars of Jim’s eyes.

.

And yeah, somewhere in all that, there’s a few more _brizzah_ deals, a bell rung twice over their heads, a crazy sing-a-long they don’t completely understand. That place with the marriage boot and the epic debate over whether they’d both actually touched it at the same time, but none of that shit counts. Not really.

That’s just what it took to get the job done.  
 

***

 

Shore leave is Jim's idea. Well, it's a scheduled thing, but the hike to see the ruins, that's all Jim. Some local said off-worlders couldn't do it and for Jim Kirk, that's a short stick and a big damned carrot. Hikaru doesn't even have to ask.

Jim doesn't even know what the ruins are, as far as Hikaru can tell, but it doesn't matter. It's something to do with their time off, some new adventure to have, and Hikaru suspects they'd still be crashing in a bar somewhere if Jim hadn't decided to strike up that conversation. That was totally the plan.

Instead, they're on the far side of nowhere tracking down some historic something they'll probably both forget as soon as they leave. Hikaru wants to point out that's kind of their day job, hiking hard to nothing, poking around strange new worlds, but Jim's energetic, enthusiastic about it, and Hikaru just can't kill that smile.

 .

Jim takes the brow of the hill like he’s strolling into his quarters. Hikaru drags his sorry ass the six feet it takes to topple him into a tree, which at least keeps him upright. He can see why this place isn’t much of a tourism hot spot, nice as it is, and when he thinks about the climb down, he resigns himself to at least an overnight up here.

“You all right there, Sulu?”

Hikaru waves from the tree. “Great, yeah, awesome.”

“You sure? Because you look a little wiped.”

“Nah, I always look like this. It’s my captain-sitting face.” Seriously, he could sleep in the tree. Shore leave was supposed to be three days getting drunk and sleeping on a friendly planet, not sixteen hours over rough terrain.

“Captain-sitting, huh?” See, and even without looking, he can hear Jim’s leer. Wants to say twenty minutes and a nap, he’ll do something about it. “That an offer?”

“There a deadline?”

Jim’s hand lands on his back, squeezes his shoulder and finds a knot. “Of course not. I’m nothing but patience.”

Hikaru scoffs. Half-turns and smiles lazy. The closest he can see to ruins are a smooth pile of stones and if that's what they've hiked out for, he wouldn't be surprised. “We're here? Or is there more to Stonehenge I’m just not seeing?”

“Yeah, we’re here.” Jim’s thumb digs in, works the knot loose and gets both hands into it when Hikaru groans a little. “You did good, lieutenant.”

“You know me. Live to serve.”

“See, now I know that’s an offer.” Jim buries his face in the back of Hikaru’s neck and nips lightly, a quick press of teeth that has Hikaru reassessing his nap needs. Ten, fifteen at the outside. “Come on, let’s get you out of the tree.”

Then Hikaru’s being led to the grass, pale green and minty, and he’s asleep before Jim’s done working the knots out of his shoulders. He wakes to find Jim sitting by a rock, staring out at the water, a strange blue-grey that’s so close to earth, he has a moment of cognitive dissonance, a gut-surety that he’s back home by the Bay. Only in space could that feel so surreal.

“How long have I been out?”

“About an hour. Feeling any better? Because you still look like shit, so…”

Hikaru mocks a laugh, very ha ha ha, asshole, and pries himself up enough to go join Jim by his rock. “So, now that we’re here, where are we?” Jim pulls at a plant. Rolls a shoulder. “You don’t know, do you?” God, that’s so Jim Kirk, charging off across some completely foreign world just to do something he’s been told he can’t. Hikaru wouldn’t change him for warp nine.

Jim pulls his plant in half. “Well, uh, if that’s the Pass of Noro, we’re at the, uh, Bay of Roupa. And that--” Jim nods at the stones "--is what's left of the Temple of Auora." 

Hikaru squints at the water, which might generously be called a pond by Earth standards. Doesn't even want to think about the stones, because it's sixteen hours of drunk hotel sex he won't have for something he could have found in someone's garden. “And if it’s not the Pass of Noro?”

Jim sort of smirks. Looks up at the sky for an answer, which Hikaru gets because that’s where he used to find his. Before the stars, Starfleet and spaceships, Hikaru had clouds and sky and Maverick. “Really want to know?”

The way he says it is a tip-off. “Wait, don’t tell me. We got lost and found Lake _Brizzah_.”

“Well, I’m pretty sure it translates closer to ‘the marriage pool’, but yeah. Close enough.”

Hikaru has to laugh, just has to, because much as he wants to call bullshit, that’s totally their luck. “The marriage pool, huh? Good times.” There’s nothing special about the place, a few trees he doesn’t recognize and the sweet, cool grass, a form of water maybe six shuttles wide, the lacklustre cluster of granite, but it wouldn’t be the first time he’d found some local ceremonial hotspot underwhelming.  He slings an arm over Jim's shoulder and drops his head down, more comfortable than he's been in a long time. "So, what can't we do?"

He expects Jim to say it again, that whatever, anything, everything's good because Hikaru's scrapped enough of his shore leave plans just to get here. He's so not giving up the sex.

Instead, Jim checks his PADD. Hums officiously, just way too light, and says, "Huh."

Hikaru squints. Can't make out what's on Jim's screen but from the sounds of it, he doesn't really want to. "Feathers huh or hoshit huh?"

"Fuck me huh."

Hikaru makes a little noise he's just never going to acknowledge again. "Sorry?"

"What, you haven't been waiting for Planet Get It On?"

And okay, yes, he's thought about how stupid it is that their weddings never seem to involve ritual sex, which Hikaru's pretty sure should be a prerequisite of space, but to find it on shore leave? What are the odds?

About as low as getting lost and finding the marriage pool, actually, when he gets logic back, and the demon light in Jim's eyes defeats the blandness of Jim's tone. Jackass. Oh yeah, it's on.

"Oh, well then, I'm going to grab another nap. Nice call on shore leave, Princess. Needed to catch up on my sleep." Hikaru stretches a little, pulls himself off Jim completely and lies back on the grass, hands behind his head and eyes wide shut. "'Night."

It's sweet, sweet vindication that Jim makes a funny little sound of his own. "You're going to sleep through shore leave?"

Hikaru gives Jim a moment or two to really let the backfire sink in before he grabs for Jim blind and hauls him down.

.

Jim falls back and stares skyward with wide, unblinking eyes, kiss-wrecked and fuckstoned as far as Hikaru can tell, which yeah, is basically shore leave as planned.

"That thing with your tongue," Jim starts, makes this truly stellar attempt at his version of a really good hoshit. "Could you do that last week?"

Hikaru's way too smug when he curls into Jim for warmth. "Nah. That's a marriage pool special, I think." He blinks up innocently, his chin on the hand he's got on Jim's chest, and thinks of all the dirty, fabulous things he's going to do with Jim's mouth when they're both back up to speed. Shore leave is a truly gorgeous thing.

"Yeah? We'll have to come back, then, or make notes or something, because that was really--" Jim cuts himself off, pulls a complicated look gone before Hikaru's got a read on it.

"With our luck, next time there'll be a dozen priest dudes and another four-hour chant."

"You think?" Jim sounds, well, curious isn't quite the word but Hikaru's got nothing better.

Hikaru wriggles in for a better spot, cheek pressed to warm skin and crisp hair. "Seems to be how we roll."

"Yeah, we've had some strange ones." Jim laughs a little, quietly. "You sure you don't mind?"

"Cool with everything but feathers. I think this quadrant has a kink."

"Possible and understood."

.

“Okay, so when are the locals coming up to do the thing?”

“I don’t know but I can think of a few ways to pass the time.”

Yeah, so can he, and he can’t think of a better way to kill his shore leave.

.

They make out. Just make out for a while, lazy kisses that get heated with each brush of hands, taper off to lazy looks when Jim’s got him on his back. It’s good, light years from life on the Enterprise lately, and Hikaru soaks it up like the pale orange suns, the violet sky so crisp and clear, it feels like San Francisco in his grandma’s yard.

He tugs at Jim’s shirt hem, expects Jim’ll let him peel it off, but Jim stops him with a look, braces himself and pulls away. Disappointment’s not the word, really, but Hikaru doesn’t know what the word is, doesn’t know what he’s missing.

“Fuck, you’re hot,” Jim says like it’s new, how Hikaru looks.

“Thought I looked like shit.”

“You make it work for you.”

“Ah.” Hikaru props himself up on his forearms, goes with easy conversation until Jim wants to talk. “So, the marriage pool, huh?" It figures, that that's where they'd land. The one time they don't have to smile nice and wear whatever, say the thing or touch the thing or do what they're asked, that they'd end up back at the alter. He's starting to think the quadrant itself has a jones for the _brizzah_. "How do you think they do it?”

Jim shakes his head wryly. “How would I know?”

“Work with me here. Dance or no dance?”

Jm twists his face in a parody of thought. “No dance. They don’t seem like dancers to me.”

“That’s what you said about the bird place.”

“Yeah, and they weren’t. They just wanted to pretty you up.” If Jim cracks the line about Hikaru being ripe for the plucking, Hikaru’s shoving him into the lake. “Not that that’s hard.”

“Yeah yeah, I’m gorgeous. You wish you looked this good.”

“Nah, I’d rather enjoy it.” Hikaru doesn’t point out Jim pulled away. “Okay, so, feast or no feast?”

“Feast. Definitely a feast.” That’s practically a given.

“Yeah?” Jim starts in on another plant. Smiles at nothing, so damned amused it should be his natural state. “Sludge stew or roast dead thing?”

Hikaru can’t remember what the bio breakdown is on Nevalla but he’s got to go with the roast troll. That seems to be a quadrant ceremonial standard. “Dude. When’s the last time we didn’t get roast troll?”

“Huh. You may be on to something there.”

Hikaru hums his agreement. “See? I notice the important stuff.”

“Just not necessarily when we’re married.”

“Hey, I did the dance. Made nice, wore the feathers, everything they asked. Didn’t matter what they thought, just what we did, right?“

“Yeah.” Jim sounds miles away. Probably back on the Enterprise in his chair or on any of the strange worlds they’ve found so far, talking up a priestess or charming his way through a brawl. It’s strange to see him this quiet because he never is, the Jim Kirk show’s a 24-hour spectacle that never stops, even shot or beaten, abducted by trolls, he’d rather waste his last breath trying to win people over to his version of the dark side.

.

“Think they say anything here? Or is it like, hey, you walked past the stone, congratulations, guys?”

“Nah, I bet they said a lot. They’ve got a pretty complicated alphabet worked out.”

.

“What would you say? If they didn’t tell us, what would you—”

“It’s what I’d ask. They never ask the right thing.” Hikaru frowns at his knees, pulls them tighter. “I mean, it’s never ‘would you go to hell with this guy?’, is it? It’s always ‘go forth and multiply’ and ‘promise forever’ and, I mean, we can’t.” Space doesn’t come with that luxury.

“You really believe that?”

“You really don’t?”

For a long time, they're both quiet.

“So what would you ask?”

See, and that, he doesn't need to think about at all. “Need a wingman?”

.

“You scare the hell out of me,” Jim tells him in the dark and grips him so tight, Hikaru can’t bring himself to let Jim know he’s awake.

.

Later, when Jim's inside him rocking slow, Jim's hands cradling his head and Jim's smile teasing brushes of his mouth, something deep and heavy in Jim's eyes. "Wingman, huh?" 

Hikaru turns his face into Jim's cheek and rolls his hips, hands creeping-sliding up Jim's back to curl over the knobs of Jim's shoulders. It's all the answer he needs to give, probably, but he still hums a little into Jim's flushed skin. "Anytime."


	5. Chapter 5

It takes the Chancellor of Planet Marry or Die about an hour to turn it into Planet Stupid Rules, which is forty minutes longer than Hikaru's expecting. The guy likes the sound of his own voice and the more he talks, the more Hikaru wants to grab Jim and run. Seriously, the rules are ridiculous. So is the timeline.

Four days is way too long to spend away from the Enterprise for something as basic as another wedding. He wants to point out how many planets can get it done in an hour; Planet Stupid Rules is slow.

Planet Stupid Rules gets its name from the Chancellor's commandments, which essentially say he can't get anywhere near Jim without an escort and that no touching is allowed. Period. Hikaru keeps a straight face, nods and smiles and goes along with it because hey, it did start out as Planet Marry or Die, but he's definitely got it on his shit mission list and it doesn't seem likely to improve.

Then it turns into Planet Wedding Planner and the next thing Hikaru knows, he's being pulled aside by a cheerful slip of veils who calls herself Ghiva, who comes at him with a happy rush of translator fail Hikaru can't parse.

 _Honored_ and _brizzah_ and _cheered for event,_ which he's figuring is Asphorax for wedding, but the rest is a thesaurus gone bad.

It's a pretty sweet setup in his guest suite and if Jim weren't in a cell for the foreseeable future, Hikaru might start thinking of this as another shore leave.

Well, and if they could touch. It's not Planet Stupid Rules for nothing. He's tried asking what up with that rule--Jim's going to hate it and he already does--but the translator fail must have been epic because that just made her flail unhappily and start burbling about _aid_.

Finally she seems to figure out something's wrong because she stops flailing and starts talking about noise.

"You must hope to noise with your _brizzah_ before we make your scheme. I have noise with my partner and your Spock and your Uhura and they sound we should have yard fall." Her voice twists fluid things around Nyota's name, the product of her accent. Hikaru files it away because Nyota likes that shit. She'd probably have a damned field day with what's going on with his translator, too.

He's going to need to take back something. Four days Standard time is a long time for an away team to be off the ship, let alone under these conditions, and there's no doubt in his mind that on the ship right now, all hell is breaking loose as the rest of senior staff try to work out the logistics.

God, he hopes Scotty tags the security feeds, because they're probably hilarious.

Ghiva, lifts her fists and quivers, a shimmy of veils and gauzed appendages.

"You are not wishing to have yard fall?" She sounds heartbroken. Hikaru wants to beat the hell out of his translator until it gets Standard back.

"No, no, bring on the yard fall," he says. Prays it won't hurt.

And apparently, yard fall is Jim.

.

Jim wakes up in what looks like a guest suite but is actually probably a cell, hungover for no good reason he can recall and restless. He came with a crew, so where are they? Safe? He thinks so, has a vague sense there's been some sort of diplomatic mishap, but he needs to know because out here, they're his responsibility and he can't do his job from the wrong side of a cell.

He has no idea who's got him. No one he knows, he doesn't think, because he doesn't recognize the architecture of the room, but that doesn't mean they don't know him. His door hatch clicks open and Jim's up, shaking off the lingering jitters of whatever hit him and heading for a spot that might give him enough of an advantage to let him escape.

Only, it's not interrogators or anything, it's Sulu. _Sulu_ , thank fuck, and since Jim's already almost at the door, he tries to drop his hands on Sulu's shoulders, pull him in close and make sure he's as okay as he seems.

Sulu says, "No touching," and pulls away. "Sorry, they don't do that here. It's unclean or something? I don't know." Sulu buries his face in his hands and rubs hard. Jim can almost see the hard lines of his shoulders, the knots Jim could work out with his thumbs if he could get a little closer-- "Oh, don't even. It's a capital crime and I like your head where it is." Sulu didn't even have to look up. Sulu pulls his hand down to sort of pinch his mouth.

"Touching you's a capital crime?" Sulu nods, momentarily grim. He hasn't looked that bad since the feathers from wedding 15 and if Jim still had his comm, they'd already be beaming home, diplomacy be damned.

Jim hates this place already and he doesn't even know where he is.

.

Jim looks like he's gone a few rounds with the guards, which he probably has, and like he's gleefully planning a few more if they're going to be here long. Hikaru gives him two days, max, before he's got a workaround for the stun sticks. It's entirely possible he's going to spend the next four days getting his ass kicked by the guards.

It wouldn't be the first time.

He doesn't say anything about it because there's no point; asking Jim to stop finding trouble is like asking Scotty to hurt the ship, just absolutely unthinkable, and he knows Jim can hold his own. Doesn't mean he won't be glad as hell to get Jim out.

The more Ghiva talks, the more Jim scowls.

"You told her I'd what?"

Hikaru shrugs a little. "What can I say? She asked, I answered."

"And now we have a chaperone."

Hikaru frowns. "What? No." Jim looks at Ghiva, who burbles and waves. Huh. "We're just here for the yard fall." That doesn't seem to help. "I don't know. We were just talking and my translator's fucked and she said...yard fall."

"Field trip," Jim corrects, which, yeah, makes more sense, and then Jim says, "And before that, apparently, you said I was a handsy bastard who shouldn't be left alone and now we have a chaperone so I don't defile you. Nice work, lieutenant."

"Defile me?" Hikaru sputter-snorts, then chokes a little. "Dude, that shuttle's flown."

Jim mutters, "You are so the bride."

It's a low blow. "Look, they stuck you in a cell and apparently, weren't all that hot on letting any of us near you at all. My translator's fucked, everyone else beamed home, and to cap it off, I got a fangirl. How's your day been, captain?"

"Fabulous." Jim looks tremendously amused, uncommonly relaxed in what's no doubt Asphoraxii death row. It's a quick change, too smooth, and historically, it comes with calculation. "We're getting married?"

"You act like this is news." It occurs to Hikaru that he doesn't know much about the stun sticks or their potential effects, and hey, he should probably fix that. The Chancellor promised it wouldn't do any permanent damage but if anyone's going to stumble onto an amnesia rod, it's going to be Jim. "How hard did that thing hit you? You feeling okay?"

"Yeah, Bones, I'm perfect."

"Asshole. Last time I try to show a little concern."

Which changes Jim completely, turns him contemplative and swallows his smile. "So. Getting married in four days and until then, we can't be alone. Anything else I should know or does that about cover it?"

"You heard me about the no touching thing?" Jim hikes a brow. "Well, and Ghiva here's kindly offered to help us plan things. I think."

Jim leans back on his couch-thing, not all that different from the one in Hikaru's guest suite so this must be the Club Fed of Asphoraxii prisons, and looks like he owns the world, which is Jim Kirk all over.

Maybe it's the stupid rules, maybe it's the chaperone, but something about how cocky Jim looks even all banged up on death row makes Hikaru want to lick him, just spit-slick a line or two up his damned throat and make Jim's hands curl in frustration. It's three moves, four if he's teasing, to have Jim plastered back on that couch, pants down and needy, and from the way Jim's knees shift just a little wider, the way his hips angle blatant invitation, Jim knows it, too.

Man, this chaperone thing blows already and they've only been here a few hours.

They don't, uh, talk much for the rest of the visit. Ghiva tries, talks to Jim and makes him translate while Hikaru's stupid UT slogs horribly through the syntax, and Jim starts talking piously about Old Earth Customs Hikaru's pretty sure are bullshit, and through it all there's this slow, subtle cocktease coming from Jim's side of the room.

When Ghiva declares their time's up for this visit, Jim crooks a finger to get Hikaru over by his couch. This not touching thing is tricky.

"Sweet dreams, lieutenant. And get your translator fixed."

Hikaru rolls his eyes. It has nothing to do with how good Jim's mouth looks quirked like that, everything to do with Jim's idea of amusement. "Aye aye, Princess."

"Captain Princess, Snuggles. Get it right." Then Jim winks and Ghiva burble-flutters over it the whole way back to Hikaru's room.

.

Nyota sends him a care package and her deepest condolences on his pending _cheered for event._ He’d argue but there's a patch to fix—hopefully—his translator fail and Top Gun in the datastream and yeah, fuck it, this is why she's his best friend. Talking her through the Pon Farr angst hadn't been his idea of a good time but he'd do it again in a heartbeat if she asked.

He turns it off before he hits the wingman scene. Some things, even Maverick can't fix and it's too damned frustrating tonight. 

.

Hikaru's expecting the plans to be a list of things he has to do to make sure this wedding runs smooth, to whatever standard Planet Stupid Rules expects. Apparently, it's not that simple.

She wants to know what sort of service he'd like. He doesn't recognize either of her options, which is not a surprise, but not all that inspiring, either.

"You have one where we're fully dressed and there's no blood swap or anything? No scars, no sacrifices, nobody dies? We'll take that one." They've done goats and boots and bells and feathers; there's very little they can't do and if the alternative is Jim's beheading, they'll do whatever the hell they're asked. Still, he can't help but add, "No feathers, if you can." 

It's hard to read her reaction through her veils but he does read into her hesitation. "Your people have joining services with such things?"

"Not so much, no."

"Why would you ask such a thing, then? I don't understand."

"Let's just say we've seen a lot of crazy." Her reaction puts him at ease, though, so he says, "Just pick something. I'm sure it'll be great."

Ghiva's not convinced. "How are such things done on your world?"

"Hey, no, we're good with whatever you guys want. Local tradition is fine, I promise. Just tell me what to say."

"I appreciate your interest in my home, Hikaru, but I think it's best if in this, we look to yours. Do not worry. I will research. It is important that we do this right." Then she sighs and goes a little fangirl on him again. "Others have made you participate in the rituals of their homes? That must have been so difficult for you both. I cannot imagine how I would take seriously the bonds of rites and customs I do not call my own."

Difficult is not the word. Hikaru's thinking more like _hoshit_. "Uh, yeah, it's been interesting."

Her glove flutters to her chest. "It is good you are _brizzah_ or one might question your sincerity."

All he can do is plaster on a smile.

.

The only thing weirder than the standard alien wedding what the fuck is apparently the alien version of the Earth kind. Hikaru has no clue where Ghiva’s getting her information but she’s got lots and she’s not afraid to use it.

Jim eggs her on. Thinks it’s hilarious that every time he points out some new minor tradition Hikaru’s never actually seen, Ghiva scrambles for her files and starts reaming off notes.

If there's a white dress in this somewhere, Jim's going to owe him for life.

.

By tacit permission, Jim gets to watch the Sulu-and-Ghiva show if he promises to shut up, which is fine by him. Spock's got the Enterprise so his ship's in good hands and there's not much else Jim can do without causing a diplomatic incident or two, so he makes the best of it. Sulu brings him regular reports by way of Uhura and Bones makes Sulu run a few medical scans for a check-up by proxy but otherwise, it's all free time from the dubious comforts of Asphoraxii death row. He'd watch paint dry and be fascinated so his standards are, admittedly, a lot lower than they should be, but the Sulu-and-Ghiva show sort of rocks his world. He's even getting a kick out of how Ghiva calls him "Princess Jim" with no irony at all.

If he could _touch_ , this mission would rock.

"You do not wish to help us, Princess Jim? This is your cheered for event, as well." Ghiva seems pretty concerned by his lack of input. Personally, he's considering it the interstellar marquee of "not the bride."

"Ah, no, Ghiva, thanks. I, uh, planned the last one."

And what Jim finds interesting there is the dark-eyed look that gets, Sulu hot and tense and still like he's miles away. God, Jim hopes he is. After the joyless wonder of waking up stunned and jailed and engaged in what's probably the quadrant's only hands-off court, Jim could use a little good news in his week. Sulu thinking about shore leave, that's really good.

.

Sitting sidelined through the wedding plans is the best thing ever as far as Jim’s concerned. It gets him regular access to Sulu, which is good, and between Ghiva’s giddy fits of localizing Earth tradition and the awesome spread of what the fucks Sulu can’t quite hide, it’s more entertaining than any vid Jim can name. Even Top Gun’s not this cool, not that he’ll ever tell Sulu that.

When they can touch again, he does want to get laid.

.

Jim’s a smirky bastard who’s going to pay and pay and pay when they get back to the ship. Hikaru’s got a list of Jim’s “helpful suggestions” and a running tally on how many of them suck. Ghiva thinks they're awesome, but what does Ghiva know?

When Jim starts talking about how, oh, they need someone to give away the bride, Hikaru fires back with an admittedly low blow.

“But Princess, you're not asking Spock?”

Jim coughs. Chokes, actually, and Ghiva claps her gloves and there’s a moment where Hikaru feels victorious. The hell that wouldn't make the report. Then Jim says, “Oh, don’t even. You want Uhura, you ask her yourself. I’m not stealing your special day.”

And maybe it’s hilarity squared to imagine Spock walking Jim down the “aisle” but Ghiva actually knows Nyota, thinks she’s fantastic, so yeah, Jim wins.

.

Nyota’s jaw hangs funny. Hikaru smiles bland. Counts back from ten and hits seven before she coughs up, “Oh my God.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right. So, you in?”

“Do I have a choice?”

He shrugs. “It’s you or Spock. Ghiva wants you.”

See, and now she looks like _hell no_. “And what do you want?” She has to wrangle back her comm goddess self, which sounds about right to him.

“Me, personally? If someone's got to walk me down the aisle, I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have.”

“Ah.” She looks like she’s lost a round with the stun stick. “Well then, how could I refuse?”

.

Ghiva only brings up catering when Sulu's explained what it is. Jim bites the hell out of his arm so he won't interrupt them or drag Sulu down on his couch when he hears Sulu asking what she's got in a roast troll.

Every time Ghiva brings up flowers, Jim can see Sulu's inner botanist curl up and die.

.

Her floral array isn’t botanically possible, as far as Hikaru knows, and he’s a little afraid of what she’s calling “the weil” but that’s got nothing on what happens when he sees the rings.

No, seriously, they could take out a fell beast, probably. He's not dead-sure those things are going to fit human hands and if, by some miracle, they do, he's going to cut himself bloody the first time he forgets to take it off before bed. They're, well, his looks like it could actually achieve flight and Jim's looks like it could _spawn_ and if he weren't dead sure Ghiva's done her best to recreate some Earth tradition she's never seen using only Jim's descriptions, he'd let himself gawk aloud.

Jim's alarmingly calm about them. Maybe he doesn't know he's getting one, too.

.

Sulu’s in a truly spectacular mood when he shows up the next day, flat and sharp in ways he hasn’t been in months. Jim charts four ways he could make it better in a minute. They all include touch.

“I swear to God, this is the last time I'm the bride.”

“Why? What happened?”

Then Sulu says, “Gown. Fitting.” and Jim figures it’s going to be a long day.

“I bet it’s awesome.” The little muscle goes off in Sulu’s jaw. “It’s not really a gown, is it?”

“Not quite.” Sulu swallows hard, six feet of stony we are not talking about this.

Ghiva’s more than happy to fill in. Of course she is. Now that he’s not doing anything stupid like asking her name or, God forbid, touching her glove, Ghiva thinks Jim’s great. The timing on that could have been better but at least it's working now. “It is a _drojj_. Your Nyota was kind enough to inform me that gowns are not required. This is acceptable, yes?”

Sulu says, “Toga,” from between clenched teeth and Jim wants to take back everything he’s said about how Earthlings dress when they tie the knot. If he’d been smarter, if he’d been thinking, he’d have told her they were naked and alone.

.

"You're kidding, right?" Sulu stares hard at his old feathered crown from not-17, Ghiva's latest acquisition for his wedding gear. The apology Jim needs to give for this goes well beyond words but he's still not sure how he went wrong. In his defense, though, he totally thought Ghiva understood the concept of veil.

"This is not your ceremonial headdress of choice, Hikaru? We can choose for you something else that is more to your likes but I was informed this held ceremonial value in your past. Is that not how your weddings are done?"

"No, it's fine, I'll wear it," Jim hears Sulu say, borderline grim, smaller and flatter then he's heard in days. When the sound of Ghiva fades to the distance of her communication pad, Sulu says tightly, "And then I'm killing it with fire," just for Jim. He's so close, right there and hovering, Jim doesn't have to think.

"Hey, it's okay," Jim says, because he knows about the feathers and how Sulu's been since 15. "We'll talk to her, get this straightened out. It's going to be all right. Come here." He reaches instinctively to pull Sulu down, kiss the tightness gone, say all that better with his hands, and instead of coming closer like Jim thinks he should, Sulu flinches hard and takes two steps away.

"For the record, you scare the fuck out of me sometimes, too."

.

Jim reads, naps, and thinks while Sulu and Ghiva talk plans, which he figures is all he really has to do. He nods off while they’re discussing flowers and jerks awake who-knows-how-long later to a heated debate.

“What? No, it’s totally _brizzah_ on our world. Right, Princess?”

Jim’s afraid to ask but he’s not arguing with Sulu’s pleading look. Doesn't have it in him to say no. “Sure. Yeah. What?”

Ghiva curls her gloves and hunches her shoulders. “Please, Princess Jim, we are discussing music for your walk down the aisle. I would appreciate your thoughts.”

Jim wonders if Sulu’s gone with Wagner or Pachibel. Isn’t as surprised as he should be when Sulu plays his choice.

“Really? That one?” he murmurs when Highway to the Danger Zone starts.

“You got something better in mind?” There's just enough stubborn challenge in that to sting.

“Ah, no, that’s good. Whatever you want, baby. It’s your big day.”

.

“See, the thing is, Ghiva, _brizzah_ ’s not like this on our world. It’s not—We’re allowed to touch. And be alone and stuff.” Beside him, Jim snickers like a mad fool, which is probably not helping his case but screw it, Hikaru can be convincing, too.

Ghiva bows her head and folds her hands, what he’s taking as her version of a what the fuck. “I am trying to understand your ways, my friends, but it is difficult when I have not seen them for myself. I must take your word and this, our Chancellor does not like.”

There’s not much the Chancellor does like, as far as Hikaru can tell. He doesn't like Jim, though he seems to tolerate Hikaru in really small doses, and he's not big on much beyond rules. Stupid ones at that. “Don’t even sweat it. We can fix that.”

Forget _brizzah_ , it's Maverick for the save.

.

Ghiva loves it. Loves it. Jim doesn’t even know what to say, because who saw that coming? Not him.

Sulu’s never going to let him live this down.

She’s wide-eyed at the flight, tense through the fights, and absolutely glued to the screen. When the iconic clutch comes at the end, all Iceman and Maverick and wingmen for life, Ghiva slips back in her seat and gasps quietly, glove coming up to her veil. He watches Ghiva because if he watches Sulu, there's no way he won't touch, just no chance he won't make some kind of wingman move and Sulu has to know it because he's not even on the couch. Is, in fact, as far away from Jim as he can get without losing sightline to the PADD.

“Oh, I see,” Ghiva says as the end credits roll over Mighty Wings and a pair of dogfighting shuttlecraft heading into a star. “You are this Maverick, yes, Princess Jim? But Hikaru, which one were you?”

Jim cringes because Maverick’s Sulu’s idol as far as Jim can tell, the guy Sulu most wants to be, and if Jim could just have had, like, a second to fill Ghiva in on that fact, they could have avoided this mess entirely. He’s pretty sure it’s going to be a mess, too, because Jim doesn’t have a whole lot of heroes in his life but he’s pretty proprietary about the ones he’s got.

“Hollywood,” Sulu says easily, like he’s given it thought and seriously come up with the second runner-up to awesome. Like Ghiva’s comment isn’t the surprise Jim thinks it should be. “I’m Hollywood. And yeah, he is pretty Mav." 

That sounds pretty goddamned wingman to Jim. "Bullshit. You're Ice." 

.

Ghiva says if they’re good, if everything’s ready, there’ll be a special surprise their last night on her world, which Sulu figures means “feast” and Jim figures means a little time alone. Ghiva’s not as staunchly anti-contact as he thinks they’re meant to believe and somewhere between _brizzah_ and Top Gun, he thinks she’s been convinced that sometimes, premarital touching’s okay.

He’s trying not to get his hopes up but it's hard. It's never taken them this long to get down the damned aisle and so far, he has no clue how other guys put up with this for months.

Ah yeah. No one else has the fucking no-touch clause.


	6. Chapter 6

Sulu doesn’t show up the last night. Instead, Jim gets Bones, Spock, and Scotty. It’s a bizarre trade, one Jim’s not sure he wants to make. He likes the guys just fine, they’re all awesome in their own way, but none of them are who he wants to see and if they’re here, there’s no chance he’ll get Sulu, too.

It’s also apparently his bachelor party, which Bones maliciously lets Spock explain. Some things just aren’t cut out for Vulcan tongues.

“They don’t have strippers on this planet?” Jim asks. It’s a reasonable question, he thinks, but the dark look Bones gives him says no.

“Yeah. While you and Sulu have been playing newlyweds for the nice homicidal autocrat, we’ve been hanging out in the red light district here on Planet Prude. Maybe if I’d had a little time I could have called in a few favors and shuttled a few of them in but give me 72 hours and a damned crisis, this is what you get. Don’t thank me. You owe Scotty for the flask.”

Jim nods on auto. “Yeah, thanks.”

“Don’t mention it, captain. I can always spare a wee nip for a good cause.”

“Well, you’ve got it,” Bones says and gives the wary eye to Jim’s room.

“So where’s everyone else? Gaila didn’t want to come?” Jim finds that hard to believe. He hasn’t thought much about who he’d have a bachelor party for himself but he’s sure the guest list should be bigger than this.

“Oh, well, there were several ladies who asked to beam down,” Scotty tells him. “They’ve gone to see Mr. Sulu. Something about a hen’s night, I believe?”

At least Spock's brought a chess board.

.

Hikaru hears the knock on his door and rolls his shoulders like he’s prepping for a brawl. Funny, how much he has to sort his head out before he sees Jim, how much control it still takes not to touch him every other word. Messed up, seriously, but he’ll worry about it when he gets home.

“Hey, right on time,” he says as he palms open the hatch. Nyota hikes a brow and looks him over once, all miss-nothing eyes and sharp, sharp smile.

“Going somewhere?”

“Oh, this is his surprise,” Ghiva says from somewhere behind Nyota. Hikaru doesn’t look away from her easily, half-thinks he’s making this up, and finds Chapel and Gaila hovering at Ghiva’s sides. “You are surprised, Hikaru?” Ghiva sounds so excited, Hikaru nods and smiles despite himself.

Surprised is not the word.

.

“Tell me this isn’t what it looks like,” Hikaru says slowly, as patient as he can. This is…not Jim. This is, well, he wants to call it a bachelorette party, only if it is, they’re short one bachelorette. If he could find a tactful way to point that out, man, he’d be all over it.

“You didn’t really think we’d let you spend your last night of singledom alone, did you?” Nyota sighs. “I’m sorry. They heard I was coming down to see you and they wanted to tag along.”

“That was nice of them.” He’s not sure why. Has the terrifyingly calm thought that he’s been adopted by the ladies of the Enterprise. “For the record, still not the bride. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”

Nyota rolls her eyes.

.

“Next time we get hitched and we get to, like, pick our own suits, man, I’m asking for that.” Hikaru points at the screen, Iceman in dress whites, Maverick pressed and dressed and gorgeous.

Ghiva makes a sound. “Your _drojj_ is not acceptable, Hikaru?” She sounds like hours of needlework and a shit-ton of veils and hey, not for nothing but he’s already done that once.

“No, no, it’s great. Really. It’ll be awesome.” He figures that’ll get a laugh, change the subject, because the thought of another swarming by the seamstresses is just too much. T-minus sixteen hours doesn’t leave him enough time to pick new clothes. He can work the toga. It's actually the thing that scares him least.

Nyota gives him a strange look, sidelong and searching. “There’s going to be a next time?”

“Yeah, why not? I mean, this is definitely the big one—and thanks again, Ghiva, you guys have been awesome about this, I’m glad we’re doing it here—but if we land somewhere and they want us to, like, pet their holy sheep of love or whatever, who am I to say no?” It’s not even hard to say anymore, just another fact of space.

Nyota’s eyes narrow suspiciously. He’s suspicious right back. “Really?”

If this is about what he can and can’t say in front of Ghiva, well, he’s the one who knows her best. She’s cool, she’s been cool from the start, and Hikaru figures she understands. Everyone in this quadrant wants a piece of the _brizzah_ and it’s just shit diplomacy to say no. He mouths Subsection 6 at Nyota so she’ll shut up. Instead, she frowns.

“C’mon, Hikaru. I need some air.” Then she’s pulling him away from gorgeous naval pilots in their dress whites and shoving him outside.

“Okay, what is up with you tonight?” He hasn’t imagined Nyota losing her shit over a pretty decent _brizzah_ deal but there’s no doubt she is. If she keeps it up, she’s not going to be the only one. Doc McCoy’s still skittish about alien worlds and Spock’s not good at just rolling with the flow and Ghiva still doesn’t know most of them very well. The last thing this needs is a daisy-chain of panic.

“You know there’s a cap, right?”

Obviously he does. "Yeah, we're clear." Twenty-two and holding, he's almost sure.

“You’re at twenty-four,” she says, and yeah, okay, maybe it’s _twenty-three_ if he counts this one, but they’re still—”This’ll be twenty-five.” She drops her voice, whispers disbelievingly, “Oh my God, you weren’t keeping count?”

“What? No, I was. I'm not an idiot, Nyota, I've been keeping track."  Except.

"Is that with or without Ivare?" She gives him two seconds to respond before she clicks her teeth. "You said there were limes?"

He can't even remember Planet Limes and like the idiot he's just said he's not, he actually says so. Nyota’s eyes gleam righteous fire. Her chin screws high. He needs to say something here. Something decisive. “There were limes?”

Huh. Not that.

Nyota boggles as only she can.

.

Spock swaps his bishop for Jim’s rook and leaves Jim to study the board, which has far too much white for Jim’s taste. “I assume you and the lieutenant will be submitting an annulment request under Subsection 6 once we return to the ship.”

Jim mentally moves his queen, hits the wrong kind of check, and stares hard at his under-protected king. His mind’s not on the game, not nearly as much as it should be if he’s taking on Spock, but he figures tonight of all nights, that’s not so bad. Understandable.

“Another one?” Bones scoffs. He’s not the best peanut gallery Jim’s ever had but since Bones won’t play poker anymore until next pay and Scotty’s working happily through what’s left of the food, he’s what Jim’s got.

Worst stag ever, Jim swears.

Jim wonders if Bones knows. If anyone would, it would be him. “Something wrong with Subsection 6?”

He doesn’t have to point out how often it’s saved their asses. Bones definitely knows that part already.

“Oh, no, of course not. What could be wrong with getting married just so you can backspace it in an hour?”

“Not the time,” Jim says lightly, staring unseeingly at the board and praying Bones won’t go off on the many, many flaws of marriage tonight. He doesn’t want to have to point out the disfiguring alternative but if he has to, he will. No one gets to knock what Sulu’s doing—what Sulu’s done—not even Bones. “How’s that green stuff, Scotty? Any good?”

Scotty muffle-says, "Oh, aye, not bad."

“Your assessment is incorrect, doctor. An annulment is not a ‘backspace’. It is a perfectly acceptable means to correct a matrimonial error.”  
Jim plays out his possibilities mentally, circles his knight, shifts his remaining castle two different ways, and can’t find an alternative that won’t mean sacrifice in two moves.

“On the contrary, doctor; I believe the captain enjoys these events.”

Jim abandons his mental game at that. He’s going to lose, anyway, and things sound like they’re about to get good.

“Enjoys them? Are you mad, man? They make him wear funny things and say funny things and _get married_. That’s its own special hell. Maybe it’s different if you feel less than my kit but trust me, that’s not the kind of thing us emoters enjoy.”

Bones knows nothing about wingmen, let alone the annulment sex, how hot it is, and Jim considers telling him, just to shut him up. Maybe Bones has had a miserable marriage but so far, all of Jim’s have been okay. Then again, he’s got a lot riding on how Sulu reads Subsection 6.

“I have counted four occasions on which this ruse was not required to achieve mission success.”

Bones says, “Oh, only four?” and Jim thinks he’s slowing down.

.

“It’s going to be okay,” Nyota tells him for what’s probably the twentieth time. Gaila comes to check on them, takes one look and charges back in to occupy Ghiva once she’s snuck a confab with Christine.

The ladies of the Enterprise are awesome beyond words. 

“Look, so you’re at twenty-five. Who cares? It’s going to be fine, Hikaru, I know it. We’ll do this and go home and get your claim started, and then we’ll talk to Admiral Pike.”

Hikaru’s jaw twitches. A muscle tics by his eye. He feels cold and hard and brittle, nothing she can fix, and the ice spike of adrenalin leaves him nauseous. “What’s Admiral Pike going to do? Change the cap?”

“If he has to, yes.” Hikaru wishes he was as sure of it as she sounds. “You two have done a lot of good for the ship. I think he'll understand once we tell him what’s going on.” That…helps, actually. A little. Hikaru needs to focus, wants to fix in on that, how it really hasn’t been a bad thing at all, how maybe that’ll be enough to get them an exemption from the rule, and Nyota says way too casually, “Besides, if he doesn’t, we just stop using _brizzah_. I know comes in handy for your away teams but it’s not like that’s all we’ve got going for us, you know?”

That doesn’t help at all. He looks up at her, searches for what she’s not saying, and _hoshit_ , they’re fucked.

She doesn't know anything about shore leave and he has no clue how to tell her this time counts.

.

Right. Okay. He can do this. They’re at 24, 25 if he counts the goat thing, which he’s not entirely sure he does. For one thing, he’s still iffy on how that went down, whether petting the sacred goat meant they’d been married by the goat or, uh, married to the goat, and Toothless McSpear-Happy hadn’t been all that inclined to explain. So. Goat thing’s a maybe.

Fuck. Hikaru skips his standard tics and tells, goes straight for the end-of-the-world palm dig at his eye.

Fuck the goat thing. Assume it counts, because maybe it does and this is the kind of thing he can’t possibly overestimate here, and think about what that means. Twenty-five as it stands, 26 by morning, and that’s whole charts of not good.

Breathing shouldn’t be this tricky. Neither should sitting still.

Hikaru walks a line across his balcony, careful not to wake the girls. Women. Ladies. Drunks. Careful not to wake the drunks. He wants to say he can only imagine that conversation if, say, Gaila wakes up now but honestly, he can’t. What the hell could he even say to her? Better he’s alone.

So if they’re at 25—they are, oh fuck—and it’s about to be 26 and they’re on the wrong side of that cap, Starfleet won’t process this fast. Might, uh, might not process it at all, actually, and okay, now he needs to sit down. Or, uh, pace. Pacing’s good. Keeps him moving, lets him think. It’s not a plant to poke at or tech to fly but he doesn’t really have those handy and he’s not going to ask. Ghiva would probably find him something, she has so far, but he’d have to wake her up and then there’s the prospect of conversation again, so no. Pacing. Where the fuck’s his sword?

This is stupid. Starfleet’s not going to make them stay married, Starfleet doesn’t have that kind of power. Fucking inhumane, dictating shit like that, and what’s wrong with this quadrant that they all think it’s okay? Space is crazy but this is nuts.

So it’s 26. There’s no law against it. He can get married as much as he wants, to whoever he wants, and there’s nothing any regulation can do about it. Except, uh, choose to not annul. That’s okay, too, fine if that’s how they want it, because annulment’s not his only choice. Divorce, divorce, divorce, he thinks, and wonders why that’s never something this quadrant wants to do to the _brizzah_. Divorce is…okay. A plan. Workable, in that it gets them not married relatively fast if they don’t contest it and he can’t imagine why they would. If there’s been annulment sex, he thinks divorce might be worth, like, a week in bed, and yeah, okay, now it’s sounding good.

Divorce it is.

Huh. He should look that up. Cover all the angles before he sees Jim, because they’re going to have to talk about it, at least a bit, and he’d like to not be the only asshole with no clue what’s going on. Spock could probably recite that code cold but this isn’t something he wants to spread, if Nyota didn’t notice, probably no one else has, and anyway, it’s not like he’s going to sleep.

Getting his hands on an actual PADD with a connection to the ship’s library is as easy and challenging as raiding his stuff, which means creeping back through the living room around the sprawled drunks who might wake up if he’s noisy and want to talk to him and shit.

If he so much as hears the word _brizzah_ before he’s got his plan set, he will totally snap.

Way too soon, he’s got a PADD hooked up to the Enterprise system and a scrawl of bland text rolling on the screen, none of it happy-making. The best part was the 23 approvals in his personnel file and yeah, he’d had a wicked moment of saved before he’d realized that’s at least one short. So not helpful. Fuck. And then, flushed off that mess and a little crazed with need-to-know, he’d run a search on divorce.

Yeah, there’s a protocol and joy, it’s right here, and holy fuck, is it bad.

Yeah, he can divorce Jim—or Jim can divorce him, which is probably the better bet—and yeah, Starfleet won’t mind, but they won’t let him stay on the Enterprise, either. There’s case history linked, situations gone wrong with the mighty vengeance of lovers scorned, Admiralty decisions on allocating staff and marriage dissolution, and all of it says one of them’s going to have to go. No choice, no appeals, not even much time.

To maximize efficiency and preserve morale, he reads, and laughs bitterly to himself.

So the best case scenario is no more _brizzah_ , which he is totally fine with at the moment but which has actually been not bad, kind of useful in its way and definitely the reason they’re both still alive. That’s his fucking best case? Jesus Christ.

Worst case scenario is. Worst. Huh.

Hikaru taps his PADD to cut the connection off and starts ranking “bad”.

.

The really shitty thing is, he'd be fine with it if he thought for a second Jim did strings. Wingmen is something, wingmen is good, but marriage, official and on record, that's something else.

.

His night passes in a blur, space he doesn’t see and thoughts he doesn’t want. He’s still trying to channel his inner Iceman--because control right now would be way helpful--when the girls wake up, ready to get him dressed. He just lets them work, plays a smile he doesn’t feel and clams the hell up because there’s nothing he’s going to say now that will make it better and he doesn’t need Nyota freaking, too. Bad enough he is.

When he’s all wrapped in his toga and reasonably clean, he parks himself on the edge of his bed, nods and smiles through Gaila’s bright cheer and Ghiva’s sweet chirp. Nyota doesn’t say much but that’s fine, that’s what he wants now, and when the sound and bustle of a room of women disappears, he vaguely figures that’s Nyota’s fault.

Loves her for it. So hard.

She says something, he doesn’t know what because he’s still thinking claims and transfers and what he’s going to lose, but he does hear Ghiva remind someone not to touch.

Jim, he thinks, and Jesus, and stupidly, surreally, it’s not.

.

Jim waits at his end of the aisle, Bones hovering like a hypochondriac mother hen. It feels like all the best weddings do, fun he hasn’t had yet and at least one of the really good what the fucks when Sulu gets a look at what Jim’s allowed to wear. The Asphoraxiis save togas for the bride, apparently, but next time, maybe Jim’ll wear the skirt. It’s probably his turn.

Bones frets when he catches Jim smiling, which will never get old. Jim can count the friends he’s loved in his life on one bandaged hand and Bones will always come first, before almost anything Jim can name. When Bones frets through safety and bitches through hell, Jim figures that’s his way of saying it back and knowing that makes it a whole lot easier to stand.

“You’re smiling.” Bones frowns. Reaches for the med kit that’s not there, because even Jim should be able to get married without requiring first aid. “Why are you smiling? You feel funny? How many fingers do you see?”

“Bones,” Jim says, because that usually calms him down, gets him out of whatever horrible doom he’s building in his head. “It’s okay. I’m fine.”

“You might be drugged. Did you taste anything strange in the breakfast? How many fingers?” He waggles a hand in Jim’s face.

“Two. Quit it. I’m not drugged.” Bones mutters fretfully about his urgent need to scan Jim’s head, which might be insulting if it weren’t so obviously Bonesian love. “Really, I’m perfect. I’m just, you know, happy.”

Jim gives Bones a pointed look to underscore the point but it doesn’t erase Bones’s frown. “Well, I don’t like it. Who knows what you’re on?”

“I’m not on anything. Jesus.” Huh. He can hear Hikaru say it in his head, half amusement, half disbelief.  “Look, I’ve been cut off for a week and in about an hour, I get to go home.” In an hour, he can touch. This is going to be the longest hour of his life. “Until then, the natives are friendly, we’ve got new allies to report, and all we have to do to seal this deal is stand here and smile. Anyway you look at it, that’s a good day, right?”

Ordinarily, he’d clap Bones on the shoulder, ground Bones in the here-and-now. If there’s one flaw with this planet, it’s got to be the no-touch rule. Instead, he tries a hangdog look and waits for Bones to bristle affectionately again.

“You sure you want to go through with this? We can have you out of here like that, Jim, just say the word.”

 Jim hauls out his captain tone. “Bones. No.” He sighs a little, fusses with the front of his pale shirt. “I’m doing this. Understood?”

Bones nods finally, like it’s the biggest grudge he’s ever held. Someday Jim’s going to meet the ex-Mrs. Bones, he swears it, and when he does, he’ll have a lot to say about fucking up a great guy.

“So. You’re my best friend, my best man. Think you could try to look at least a little happy for me? Come on, admit it; you feel the love.” Jim’s face pulls to a smile that feels ridiculous, forget how it looks, and Bones pulls a reluctant flash of something that might grow up to be a grin.

“Crazy bastard. Only you.” Like Bones wouldn’t do the same. In another world, another timeline, Jim’s half-sure there’s a version of himself who’d marry Bones and like it. He hopes it works out for them. Hopes Chapel figures out how to knock Bones on his ass in the timeline they’ve got.  “All right. All right, Jim, I’ll try.”

.

Everything's perfect until Jim sees Uhura's face. He's off, halfway down the aisle and reaching for her arms as Bones and God and everyone yells at him _not to touch_.

"What's wrong?" Jim asks. "Where is he? Lieutenant, what's wrong?"

No way Sulu wouldn't show. Not this time. It's in the wingman code.

She shakes her head, looks vague and freaked and horribly un-Uhura. "I don't know," she says with a helpless spread of hands and there's only one thing Jim can do.

"Show me where he is."

.

Jim shows up while Hikaru’s pacing restless by his bed, wrist twitching test-swings of his sword, gut heavy with dread. He hasn’t put his feathers on yet but otherwise, he’s set, and that’s crazy, too, that Jim’s there and not hanging around at the alter like they planned. 

“You getting cold feet on me?” Jim asks, mostly a tease, but he moves through the door like he’s on a mission, wears that tight focus that belongs in his command chair. “Holy shit, you are.”

“I. Uh. No.” Hikaru shakes his head. Doesn’t clear it. “We ready to go?”

“Yeah, they are. You’re not.”

“I’m fine. Let’s do this.” Whatever comes next, they’ve got a wedding to attend.

Only Jim says, “Hold on.”

“No, what, we’ve got to go, Jim. They’ll be pissed if we’re late.”

“Then they can be pissed,” Jim says, momentarily grim. “Want to tell me what’s on your mind, lieutenant?” Hikaru shakes his head. Twitch-flicks his wrist. “Do I need to make that an order?” Hikaru feels himself nod. Jesus. “Okay. Okay then, it is.”

Jim sounds soft, kind and careful and patient, which is Jim all over when he wants, and for that alone, Hikaru feels better about his new plan. “You should ask McKenna to take my post. He’s pretty good. Nice guy. I think you’ll get along. Or Juarez, maybe, if McKenna says no, but it’s a promotion, so he’s probably in.”

“Going somewhere?” Hikaru can’t deal with Jim’s eyes right now, that bright-sharp puzzle thing he’s working through. Looking down is a spineless move but without his inner Iceman, that’s what he’s got and by fuck, he’s working it.

“Don’t have a choice. Starfleet protocol for divorce; we can’t work the same shift. Hell, I don’t think we’re supposed to be on the same ship if they can help it but I’d rather not leave, so if I need to change departments—” And then he’s giving up the stars, which he didn’t ever think he’d do because he couldn’t imagine ever loving anything that much. But it’s the stars or the Enterprise, and when he’s tried to imagine himself flying for anyone else, it’s been a big, huge blank, and maybe he’s stupidly attached to his first post but the ship feels like his, like home, and that’s not easy to leave. He sucks up a breath, steels himself again. Meets Jim’s stare and says, “Botany works,” like he means it.

He can be okay in botany for now.

Jim says, “You’re thinking about divorce,” like he needs to say it for himself.

So yeah, they’ve both lost count. Awesome. Hikaru’s going to laugh about that when he stops feeling sick. “We hit the cap.”

“Did we?” Jim sounds strange. Sly, maybe, reckless genius taking point. It’s not Jim’s problem to solve, though; all he did was try to shake someone's hand, it wasn’t even Jim’s idea to bring up the _brizzah_ , let alone the wedding, and Hikaru won’t let Jim make this his fault. The self-destructive tendencies of Jim Kirk are quasi-famous on their bridge.

“This is 26.”

“Twenty-four,” Jim corrects gently. “This is 24.”

That’s just too much. “I’ve been up all damned night counting, asshole. Trust me, it’s twenty-fucking-six.”

There’s a strange pause, long and awkward, and Hikaru wants to sink through the floor. Beam home. Anything, whatever, he doesn’t care, just so long as he doesn’t have to hash this out. He’s got no problems going through with the new plan, nothing he can’t get over in time, but he doesn’t want to have to talk about it. They just _don't_. Knows he’s way too attached here and when Jim hears it, he’s going to freak, too, and then the Chancellor’s going to try to cut off his damned head and this mission is fucking made of unholy suck.

“You’ve signed 25 requests? Huh.”

“I should have, yeah.”

“Huh.” Jim might as well be playing chess, that’s how damned engaged he sounds. “So which ones am I missing?”

Hikaru turns, steps away and grinds a palm into his eye. “Offhand? What do you remember about Planet Limes?” Then, like extra misery, he hears himself say, "Didn't see one for shore leave, either." 

Jim steps up behind him, beside him, another phantom touch. “You’re counting shore leave and you’re still planning our divorce? I know you’re a pretty reasonable guy and that makes no sense, so please, enlighten me.”

It would probably sting less if he hadn’t spent big chunks of his night going over that last time, Jim painted red by the moon and arching up like a cat, rolling his hips to sink Hikaru in deep, head thrown back to bare his throat, their whole world nothing but wet skin and caught breath. Maybe it started out as a joke, the marriage pool, but that wasn’t and the suggestion that Jim’s just dismissed it sparks a vicious _what the fuck_. “You don’t think that counts?”

“Yeah, I do. What I don’t get is the divorce.”

Hikaru can’t find words that don't mean strings, which Jim doesn’t do, and feelings, which is a pile of hell no. Fine to have them but they don’t share. Some things go beyond words and this, Jim and trolls and cliffs and feathers, this one of them. Hikaru sobs a little helpless laughter at how badly they’ve fucked up.

“All right, that’s it.” Jim snap-crackles, the edge of raw temper that says he’s about to do something hoshit, and Hikaru has just enough time to actually think that before Jim’s hand comes down for a hard squeeze on his shoulder.

On account of the rules and how he likes Jim’s head right where it is, Hikaru tries to throw Jim off but his grip tightens, trips pleasure-pain, and Jim’s other hand is so light when it finds Hikaru’s face that he just turns and fuck, right, Chancellor. Touching bad. 

“Let go, jackass, or they’re going to cut off your head.”

“Yeah, fuck that,” Jim growls. “I need to touch you for this. It's a stupid rule, anyway. Jesus Christ, you only get it when we touch. Right?” Jim lifts his gaze, looks unsure. “You do get it, right?”

Hikaru blinks and nods. “Yeah, Jim, I—”

“Because divorce doesn’t sound like you do, so I’m thinking I should clarify. Okay?” Jim licks his lips. Looks so damned intense, so badass captain and bugfuck Jim Hikaru licks his, too. That’s a look that belongs on the good side of a blowjob tackle or shit blowing up. “First up, no goddamned divorce. We don’t need one, because like I keep apparently not getting through to you, I’ve only filed twenty-three requests. So even if you’re done with this whole _brizzah_ thing, we’re good and no one has to switch shifts or head to fucking botany, all right? Two—and pay attention because this is where it gets tricky—two is the marriage pool. Namely, does it count? I think yes and I think you do, too, which makes this whole thing _insane_ because when we get right down to it, no one else was there. No one made us do a thing and Sulu, Hikaru, that’s kind of huge.” If no one made them do it, there’s no Subsection 6. Hikaru’s not sure what he feels but it’s not quite relief. “So I guess the question is, wingman, how married do you feel?”

If the Chancellor’s really taking heads for a little contact, he’ll have to get Hikaru’s, too, because there’s no way he can answer that with words.

There’s a whole damned conversation in the kiss, all reckless impatience and mind-blanking heat, toothless with tongue and everything he’s missed the past four days. It’s hard, fast, brutally sweet, and Hikaru can’t figure out where he needs to put his hands first, chest or cheek, hair or hip.

Somewhere around them a guard’s going nuts, _rules, rules, brizzah,_ whatevs, and someone’s snapping back—Hikaru really hopes it’s Nyota because good God, when she starts—and there’s a whole big scuffle going on that he should probably care about only it’s been four days, three fucking years, and he’s got a goddamned husband to relearn.

Jim pulls away, breathless and bright, but he doesn’t go far, doesn’t even try Hikaru's iron grip. “So I’m guessing that’s a yes?”

.

Later, in the aftermath of what’s apparently renewing their vows, all the pomp and circumstance Ghiva could cook up and all of senior staff on hand to get it all on vid, Hikaru drags Jim back to their quarters, touch-hungry and blitzed.

Jim’s having way too much fun peeling the toga off. Hikaru wants to touch back, get all over Jim like he hasn’t been allowed in way, way too long, only he’s still a little afraid of his ring. Feels disloyal when he thinks about taking it off but seriously, it could take out an eye.

Jim’s doing really interesting things to his chest, tracing little symbols Hikaru can’t name and recharting him like the stars they still haven’t seen. It’s kind of amazing that he gets to have this.

Jim looks up. Stills his hands. “Hey, you freaking out on me again?”

Hikaru shakes his head. “On you? No. On the bling? Give me time.”

“Ah, yeah, I got you. Ghiva did a good job.” There’s far too much diplomacy in that but since it’s Ghiva, Hikaru lets it slide. Jim looks him over with the chess face again. “That’s not it. Going to tell me what’s up or do I have to make you talk?”

Hikaru squirms into Jim’s grip, the edge of nail pressing just under the head of his dick like a promise Jim intends to keep. He’s still so fucking easy it blows Hikaru’s mind but at least now, he seems to know what he wants beyond the chair and his command.

Which slides a few things into place.

“You knew.” Of course he did. The goat thing, the marriage pool, _twenty-three_ , those are all earmarks of a Jim Kirk play and Hikaru should have picked that up long before he did. 

Jim snorts. “I can’t believe you didn’t.”

“Before or after Top Gun?”

"Really, Snuggles?" Jim rolls his eyes and flops down on the bed, all secret genius smile and cocktease disappointment, waiting for Hikaru to catch on, keep up, match him. "Why did you think we went on the damned hike?”

 

 

~end~


End file.
